St Boris's Day
By Ewan
- 549 reads
When the others came,
I called them names,
I knew no better,
my betters blamed them
-shamed them.
My pockets emptied,
pay packets shrank;
no thanks to “them”,
sons of Shem
or Ham, or just
not us, we, ours.
And The Pied Piper played
a seductive tune
reminding us
of glory days,
gilded by nostalgia
and naivety.
So...
“They” went.
My mother died
on a gurney
in a corridor.
Cabbage rotted,
lambs were slaughtered,
the pub name enjoyed
a revival
- unlike farming.
We fools,
we happy fools,
we band of buggers
who followed on that day,
be it ever so vile,
this day shall destroy our our condition,
for we idiots that day abed
shall know ourselves accursed that we did not vote
and clutch our manhoods close, lest any know
what we did not do on Brexit day.
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