Scrap Heap


Beneath this mask hides England.
In denial, what price the truth?
Those marbled halls of power,
Now a rudderless ship of fools.

One knight shouts from his tower.
‘Your town’s booming! It’s bloody true!’
But this gold’s a fickle jewel,
a wordsmiths devious tool.

Who pawned his offspring’s savings?
Left home to search for work?
Dossed down in some rank hostel?
In England! It’s absurd.

So it’s goodbye engineer,
Steelworker, shipwright too.
Miner, draughtsman, docker.
England’s fine without any of you!

2003, June

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