Bye bye Great Britain, we’re Little England now We’ve dumped the Euros and de-standardised the cow We’ve resmoked the air and unstocked the Thames And put things all back together again! We can now go back to living in sin Just as if we had never been IN! Immigrants all have packed and they go Our…

Ready to leave? Yet? Put away Regret? Brushed the carpet? Fed the pet? Is your face scraped And your underwear clean? Licked the window? Packed away The Dream? Have you any idea Do you know How, precisely, you’re going To go? Or where? No? No!

Wishing I were an exhibit An iconic one like Tipoo’s tiger Or a Rodin Immobile And Composed Receiving as my due A glance or two. I’m stuck. Alone, like you Unable to summon the pluck to say hello. You go. And I, gobbling Benugo’s pie By the still pond Where ducks die Pose. Stuck. Immobile…

  In my journey From A to Z Now near the end of my alphabet at last (Or at least I hope so) Here where Everything is so much less (Even less clear) where maintenance is the only task, Repairs more onerous And less reliable And more expensive And less like fun And more frequent…

How the people stare! When you indulge in silly hair If gold or green Or something between Or cut and shaped like a soup tureen Or styled  with dash Above the eye Or tortured with The latest dye Or tied or teased To defy Gravity! Or perched on pate like flattened rat That silly inane…