Poem - written about a banker in 2004

I've been clearing out papers in our shed and I've found that a little poem I jotted down, while walking in Battersea Gardens, London, one summer evening in 2004. I was considering wealthy young bankers, who worked in the City of London, keeping in shape by almost fanatical jogging. They seemed to me aspiring "machines" clearly untouched by the beauty and reality all around them.  I wonder what happened to Adam in the banking crisis. Where is he now?

At the End of the Run

Under the flight path to Chiswick and Kew

Christ went walking in the evening dew.

In Battersea's Eden, he uttered a call

To a banker called Adam, deceived by The Fall
To risk all on gilts, while a flaming sun

Awed all in Chelsea at the end of his run.

Tensed to the limit, tanned gold, stretched taut,

Designer-sprung trainers, his breath came short.

Testosterone-driven - a body machine,

He pounded the earth at the edge of the Green.

"Adam!" Christ called - but his ears were shut. 

His agenda was full - the pickings were much.

Around him, Creation designed 'good' - and true,

Passed like a swan, peripheral to view.

Deaf to his calling, though God powered him on,

Rebellious Adam's bright day was soon done.

Desire like a junkie's, injecting the dope

Consumed all his exits - and shrivelled his hope.

The bandstand in Battersea Gardens, London

Alison Bailey, 2004

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