Requiem

Who set about creating enemies

Are evil gods. Somehow this has been missed

In the discourses of our pleasantries.

Now even the mad dog in the street is pissed.

I imagine they go about and call those slatterns

That barely have the money for a drink

A necessary part of their patterns.

For some to rise, some are understood to sink.

Now as I get my coffee in my coat,

I dream of bowls of gruel poured for the queues,

The same endless queues, just off the boat,

Meant to dilute our own endless queues.

So do we realise what the problem is,

So do we suffer an ancient wrath, this.