They look for apologies
for what seems like
centuries of
neglect,
but they'll end up with
apostrophe's
at bus stops to terminate
what had gone on,

but
now they can't wait
for the
penitent travellers
who hesitate
to sign on the line.

I will never kowtow
no way and
no how
will I go cap in hand
to those who confess
that they've ruled with an
iron rod
this land that I love.

If there's to be anarchy
then I say,
let the mad dogs free,
let them howl cheek by jowl
at the moon,

very soon and that'll suit me
we'll be on the scaffold or on
ITV
chancing the lights and the
knights of the camera
making our debuts
confusing what's wanted
by using what's not.

Get in everyone's face
make them remember you.

Speak as you find and
pay them no mind,
they're not listening
they're only pretending
and
hanging it out until
the last of you's gone

when it's the whispers
that shrink back at dawn
at
the rising of **** stars
you might wish
or wonder
what you were born for,

but somebody's got to be here to explain
someone who'll tell them about the mountain of pain
the tears that rain,

If not then for the grain of sand
the outstretched hand
or
the welcoming smile
it wouldn't be worth
my while
to continue
because
poetry is a poultice
to put on the eruptions
to cover the wounds
that repulse.