Larkin’

They’ll bite your bum, the posh, the scum

& leave you blistered, black and brown

seeking out asylum

*

killing smiles say voodoo child, say wait a while

redacting files the crocodile smiles

mumbling quick ‘I’m sorries’

*

to what? to whom? the empty cell

the vacant room, closer to the tomb than womb

gazing at the morning