St Boris's Day

When the others came,

I called them names,

I knew no better,

my betters blamed them

-shamed them.

My pockets emptied,

pay packets shrank;

no thanks to “them”,

sons of Shem

or Ham, or just

not us, we, ours.

And The Pied Piper played

a seductive tune

reminding us

of glory days,

gilded by nostalgia

and naivety.

So...

“They” went.

My mother died

on a gurney

in a corridor.

Cabbage rotted,

lambs were slaughtered,

the pub name enjoyed

a revival

- unlike farming.

We fools,

we happy fools,

we band of buggers

who followed on that day,

be it ever so vile,

this day shall destroy our our condition,

for we idiots that day abed

shall know ourselves accursed that we did not vote

and clutch our manhoods close, lest any know

what we did not do on Brexit day.