This is a little response to the bodged politics we’ve been experiencing for the last year or so…
The Price We Pay
In deadly night’s shade,
before light shone on both sides of the Eurotunnel,
vision was denounced in an endless jeremiad.
Eyelids closed against the sun
as it glisten on a splenetic lobster
probing about in the darkness of its case.
And the literati play with words
received through tufts of hair, not ears.
The hanging judge burns all prose
(purple and otherwise),
strings us up and along as though
it is better to boil lobsters alive
beneath the naked light bulb
than when our backs are turned.
Wise women and the rights of men,
wide cracks in pavements
full of shit and chat from the gutter press.
Yet we, too, have become superselves,
scornful of gravity,
too bright for the sun saturating our skin.
Extricated from within,
we step down from the shelves
we were once put upon.