Must be a mast year this, the Met are out in force.

Scrumping, in Parliament Square. Groups of five  
or six, push through to reach the ripest fruit.

Juicy individuals are plucked out from the crowd  
they nestle into. Lofted cardboard signs express 

support, for a group the Government objects to.  

Each prize is bundled into a van-shaped box,  
some with sticks attached still. A week later, London

streets are bloated with grey faced men, raging

as they waddle, draped in red and white. Police, there

in numbers, hold back on wading in. Perhaps they fear

the crop is tainted, will only make a bitter, rotten jam.

Matt Gilbert is from Bristol, but currently gets his fill of urban hills in South East London. His poems have been widely published. His first collection ‘Street Sailing’ came out with Black Bough Poetry in 2023.

Poetry submissions to thursdaypoems@gmail.com