The mangled flower is draped over me, like plasters
Like the masters on tv
The union jack is your best friend
like me all torn
and twisted
the heartless swines
They droop on the way down, all kept secrets
Never promised
drainpipe jeans and your old holborn pipe
sucking it
for your dear life
like the masters on tv
it kindles, reminds you of all the children
they sang and sang
of times and places
you will never visit
I am void and null
Empty and dull
like the masters on tv
That reminds me, to get to Friday
to watch you slip and fall
in your shawl
like an empty ocean
all derided and desired
like a piece of toast you look old
and crippled
in your armchair
falling under the medicine
Prescribed to your mothers, mother
so tired and old
so bold
like a nibble of ink
like a arial template
written on your aunties nighty
I see your face
our human race
is knackerd
like the machine that runs it
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