Monday June

Regents rippled canal double-rippled by a duck's dedication.
A watery criss-cross prettily patterns the murk and mud.
Deep down on a man-made layered bed lie:
twisted bikes, drug-dealers' sins, the odd Kray twin.
Skeletons I bet.
Next to empty bottles and cigarettes.
Four clobbered up fisherman take in the first of Camden's Spring.
And the bin-man, shorn of his locks, smiles as he takes our rubbish in.