Not brillig in Brexitland by Sheila Jacob

I am not a silent poet

Write, you bastards, urges the poet from Zaragoza

but random words collide, crash like FTSE shares

plunging off the page, zooming down a rabbit hole

where Sam Cam sits weeping, daubs me with an X.

Eat me, drink me, come to mad Nigel’s party, hunt

foreigners dozing in teapots, cart-load them home

flooding the Severn Tunnel and Spaghetti Junction.

Wales, Wales, you’ve scored the losing own goal.

Birmingham, my birth-home, I’ll fasten a bull ring

around your hard nose, show you the departing star.

London Bridge stands firm, isn’t falling for Boris

but I’m still  the wrong side of the looking glass

balancing fear in each hand, pen & paper in mouth,

trying to write by spitting through clenched teeth.

View original post

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s