It's not quite Teignmouth

There are traces of you everywhere
A town I pass through
-coincidence
Your hometown
It's prettier than I imagined
You had to move on I suppose
To bigger and better things
I understand
You couldn't stay a child forever

And eventually I will too
But how am I to move on
Bigger and better is absent
In the capital
Where the only still water that exists
Is the dirty dishwater in the sink
Where the only trees
Are the screwed up pieces of paper in my bin
As I try and write something meaningful

In an empty world
Without the experience to imagine
Without the unrelenting boredom
When I'm surrounded by the bustle of life
Where my greatest love is a string of wires
A cold unyielding surface
A 16GB memory
With no memory at all
(Because even fingerprints can be wiped clean)

Oh there are people I've touched
And I could write about sex
But I'm not sure what I could add to
The 'babys' and the 'ooohs'
That litter our ever so inspiring charts
I could write about nights out
The kind you could relate to
The laughs and the trouble
But I fear then there would be nothing new
Nothing inspired

So this is my defiance
Because if I cannot write of great loves
Of beautiful countryside
Or intelligent politics
I shall instead pick up a pen
-or type out hastily on my phone
A tribute to you
Even if it's the polar to your work
Even if my best attempt at poetry
Is my lack of inspiration
It will do.