1985

I

Vultures with clawing eyes and billhook beaks,
bowler hats and city slick,
perched on scaffolds.
The stench of burning briar.
Frightened queues of creatures
bound, gagged and chained.
Waking up and falling
through trap doors, the only opening.

Words of free speech piled up high
and swept hot to heaven.
1985 on the calendar,
Daily Express up on the altar:
“1984: The year we proved Orwell wrong.”

The altar by the gallows,
a dissenting priest being hanged,
the Express read as sermon.

II

Jean Genet seized and ignited
for flaring off at an angle.
A dying beggarman accosted by police
for trying to piss, for finding this easier
than asking his fellow humans for
the legal asking price for a piss.
School-leavers bound to pay
for purchases to make them weep.
And widows all day alone,
in living death of TV soap
keeping for the hangmen clean.

Every moment a free thought should arise
it shall stick out a mile.
“What happened in Dallas last night?”
“My mind was flying and no more working.”



       London, 1985



Free thoughts have much to dodge:
look in the paper.