At the height of summer, a company
legally entitled to make money
from a natural resource, discharged
raw sewage into the river that flows
through the antique city where I live –
the waters where salmon leaped and spawned;
John Milton’s ‘wizard stream; upon whose
current, Edgar the Peaceable, King
of the English, was rowed upstream by eight
vassal monarchs for his coronation;
and which Ptolemy put on his world map.
As yet, you ain’t seen nothing, folks! Three days
after her late Majesty was lowered
into the family vault, a Bill was laid
before Parliament. It has a sunset clause.
After New Year’s Eve in 2023
whole libraries of legislation
will be immolated – regarding,
for example, the pollution of rivers
and sea shores, the preservation of wild life,
the protection of pregnant workers,
the safety of products, and holiday pay.
Perhaps when the turds are jostling below
the terrace at the Palace of Westminster,
and the miasma evades the air con,
there will be enough good women and men,
true representatives of the people,
to remove this government of whining,
hollow clowns, led by yet another useful
idiot, these self-indulgent, entitled,
deceitful puppets of straw corrupted by
the dark dosh of the neoliberal
masters of the universe – who are,
even as I type, dividing the moon
and stars between themselves.