The man with the missile is masturbating
His shadow splats onto the garden
He thinks he is making history
Heaven knows he's making a mess
The equinox will re-stock the garden
It won't be easy this year
The east reheats the cold war
There are sentries in spades at the lych-gate
When a man without feeling starts wanking
There is something wrong with his head
His hands will be perpetually bloody
And all hope for his issue is dead
There was a European thrush
Conventionally coloured
But to my mind was yellow and blue
It sang strongly all year
Until the fool in the east went west.
The silence told us the songbird was gone
We found down on the floor
And a feather on the pond
Perhaps it was attacked
Perhaps it fought back
And outwitted the predator
Lets hope it escaped
To sing by the Dnieper
They need strong songs there.
We housed a hog
He arrived the night the boundary was pierced
Crowned completely with spears
He would have starved
Had he not been harboured
He sleeps all day
But not at night
We hope he can go home soon
And be at liberty
With no need for spears on his back
Ukraine
We weep for you
Can't sleep for you
But
Your aim is true
Your ground is yellow gold
Your vault
Cobalt blue.
Former drama teacher, fringe theatre producer and director, and author of novels, short stories and some non-fiction work. I now hawk my output under the moniker of uneasybooks.
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