Christmas apocalypse

"If I drive down this afternoon I'll be in time for..."
"I'm spending Christmas day at my dad's, then boxing day at..."

All the snippets I hear
are carrying the glossy rats away
we're leaving London,
having made it it filthy enough for this year
we've had enough of ourselves
and of one another.

Everybody hopes it will be new
when we get back
a gleaming Metropolis,
instead of this Gotham
we're leaving behind.

I fancy being the last to leave,
I have visions of street-cleaning dragons
dashing down brown office blocks
licking the pavements clean of kebab scraps
or a giant cityboy ape in a suit reaching up
to crush the tired sun.

Everybody's leaving
and soon all this jovial panic
will be January rubble
the decorations overhanging,
glitter creepers in a reclaimed city

The barbarous hordes will
have to hack a path back
expecting a Christmas miracle
getting in early to work
to pick up exactly where they left
only slightly fatter.