Ghost Fish Supper

by grimbeau




Nightsoil  fall out lingers on
black pudding, slumberland sausage,
cold bacon buttie
Twenty-two slaughtered in Manchester blast
Why should that
having never sown they reaped
mad global whirlwinds?
blows someone some good i s’pose

Good day to bury bad news
surmise sardonic undertakers—
perish such notions from your
oh so pretty head
Or we’ll send the girls round
to sort you out this time for good

Okay, okay give way hope
Suspend jaded disbelief
Harbour ghetto reservations
Not even they could stoop so low—could they?
Seeds of doubt scattered
A plenty over fertile land
Stranger things have happened
Down the ages of human perfidy
Slaughtering our innocents
In the name of a rose