Thursday, February 09, 2012


All darlings break in this barrage,
The un-smart bombs of indiscrimination,
Hate everyone and so fall randomly,
Live across a city of smashed concrete,
In front of the wide-eyed children,
Waiting for their tea-time TV, waking up,
To the top story of a man resigned,
For murmuring his raging discontent,
His lack of salary, his lost respect.

The editors don’t choose his stance,
He makes it clear but does not care,
How they represent him, he’ll shrug,
And leave having stated his position,
We cannot see how he sees himself,
Or list his errors for he’s a cipher,
A flexible envoy of the tedious world,
Bright shiny lights for animal minds,
And we in the party take it hard.

I’d forget his name but it takes work,
To force out the minor thought of it,
Sneaking in front of blood and damage,
Smiling his waste of bandwidth away,
To raise murmurings in later bar talk,
Such barrack politics has no outrage,
No calls for blood or boots for blood,
They’ll sink back into the warm beer,
Like salt or dust in uncared-for air.

They ignore the sharp sting of spirits,
The drink of the angry men, the armed,
Booking their tickets to foreign wars,
That call them to supposed heritage,
Forgetting the old village divisions,
That made refugees a generation past,
Back to the old country, ancient kings,
Ruling them with primordial dark ideas,
Morally ownerless in enlightenment.

No comments: