A Taste of Late September
Hotter out than in again;
though sun deployed behind the sycamore,
's beset by clouds that aim to lid
the entire sky with sagging grey,
the balmy air has driven off
white fungal dusting from wild lettuce
whose tufted seeds wait in dead calm
and in the stir of catspaw breeze
ready to drift in autumnal progress.
I break a by-stem. lick white latex bleed
bitter from my little finger.
Yesterday I ate two wild (feral?) apples
on impulse from a local wilderness
one tangy-sour, one bitter-dry
as brother to a sloe.
And over all,
the bindweed triumph smothers tallest nettles
and broadest docks - rankness rearing up prodigiously,
reaching over autumnal ripeness, climbing tall
dead giant hogweed stalks - to thrust
pale, funereal bells silently above
our upturned faces.
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The Modern Way
Whereas Hitler, Himmler, et al
utilised death camps and 'sanatoriums',
Blobby Butcher Johnson and his DWP
Shelob, Theresa Coffey, hire ignorant thugs
to rule the patently disabled fit for work;
then, while the victims wait for courts
to overturn that preposterous and evil trick,
a significant number of disabled die
of suicide, starvation, homelessness etc;
lack of funds and fear does all the Nazi work;
no need of camps in modern murder.
Tories sing hey, for over a decade
these kinds of ways and means
have killed 200 thousand of the weak and sick.
Covid has been the devil's friend, of course,
150 thousand dead, in under two years,
mass-murder rate most pleasing to the shits
who hold sway here at Mordor's heart.
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