Sea I said
…
idly
pointing
over the point
that bit of
Sea
Yea sea so
Sea!
Yeah, yeah…
Please do not get het up,
Sounding like a Gatling Gun.
Quite naturally
I conjectures that i
Touched a raw nerve
Out of my brain at
Five fifteen
The dreaded words slide
Out:
‘Why not stick on the
Downton Abbey Finale?’
As soon
As they slipped from my mouth
A mighty echo
Expanded to explosion
And with a drawl portended
‘Surely, this Soap was
the
Soap
Of God’
End
Of Empire
fear not nobody
hone your bullshit detector
do your very worst
yesterday’s ramblings lost
callous wanton sacrifice
push of a button
so in the blink of an eye
small print woeful whoopsies
slip inconspicuously
away among classifieds
hatches matches
dispatches
bought & sold
& lost & found