The British system? It’s just not cricket.
It’s not fair play. It’s still I’m alright, Jack.
We’re not gregarious, so we closet
Ourselves away in small castles while rack
And ruin lie outside. We all stay back
Behind net-curtained battlements, see kids
On the loose, drug addicts, a giant crack
Through which the failures fall, tyre marks and skids
And flowers by lamp posts. Our rich land rids
Itself of guilt for poor death. Soldiers hit
And maim in distant lands. Shareholders crack
Open bubbly to sounds of coffin lids.
Where is our conscience, our empathy? It
Seems there are things our leaders always lack.
Thur 6 Sep 2007
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