The Ghost Of Milton Friedman Talks Disaster Capitalism In A Burning Hackney Diner
By Kilb50
- 4848 reads
The smashed front window
is like a new mouth on the high street -
a Ginsbergian howl that vomits
shopping trolleys ablaze.
Inside, frosted eyes
and peppergum shards
of fractured glass
crackle and hiss
in the heated atmosphere
of this riotous night.
Paddy, Zoltan, Katie
and Apple -
the customers fled
with their mouths full
as madness swept
the street like a prophetic broom.
Now only Milton remains
at a perspex table for one
eating crisps and
a prawn sandwich -
an old nobel ghost
talking disaster capitalism
with Margaret, his
imaginary friend.
A petrol bomb
scents the night air;
riot brigade no. 5 (mayor's division)
tool up, assemble and charge.
Margaret (not at her best these days),
parched and scared,
assaults an ambulanceman
with her handbag
slugs an NHS blood spill kit
to quench her thirst.
Milton chews and chews
and shrugs -
spits prawn-shell
onto his plate at the memory.
He's frequented burnt-out
diners before
in Chicago, Rejkjavik,
Santiago (September, 1973).
Any moment now the flame-grilled door
will fall off its hinges
and a girl will appear
wearing slinky jheri curls
carrying shiny black shoes
liberated from Clarks.
She will be hungry. Confused.
She gave the feds what was coming.
Milton’s ghost will hold out
his hands and say: "Welcome
to paradise - take all
that I have."
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Comments
You could have let the
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The best of luck with the
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Hello kilb50, Strong Entry.
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I think this is rather good
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This is not only the winner
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A smashing poem grabs the
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hello kilb50 Well done on
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Many congratulations on the
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Awesome entry and a well
Judygee
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Congratulations, as well.
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yes, fully deserving, my own
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