FIVE O'CLOCK

At five o’clock the Tories dribble poison in my ears

trying hard to hide their perma-smirks they giggle at our fears.

Trumpeting as triumphs, all the targets they’ve not met.

They twist the truth like wicker man and hope we’ll all forget

that they failed to act in time to protect our brave frontline

And they watched the death toll climb, while they told us we were fine

 

But we weren’t. And we’re not.

And some of us won’t ever be again.

 

But at five o’clock they’re back with another pack of lies.

And at five, they just all talk numbers, as yet another family cries

Because their loved ones weren’t protected, and our country wasn’t led

And so, to this indiscriminate killer our migrants and our working class are fed.

Seems our elders are expendable as they’re worth less than they cost

But it’s our dignity and our history that along with them are lost.

 

They may remember victory in Europe like it was just yesterday

But when Boris was balancing his budget that just didn’t hold much sway.

Because like Kitchener before him he only counts his flock by the head

No understanding of the grief and suffering of all those thousands dead

For we are just factory fodder, we bleed to grease to wheels of industry I’ve heard

And to the Tories our cities are not peopled, just filled with an ethnic urban herd.

 

At five o’clock the Tories dribble poison in my ears

trying hard to hide their perma-smirks they giggle at our fears.

Trumpeting as triumphs, all the targets they’ve not met.

They twist the truth like wicker man and hope we’ll all forget

that they failed to act in time to protect our brave frontline

And they watched the death toll climb, while they told us we were fine

 

But we weren’t. And we’re not.

And some of us won’t ever be again.

The video of this poem is available by clicking the link in the text

I'm hosting an online event tomorrow here

Loads of talent on the open mic and David Lee Morgan (Fomer UK slam champ) as the featured artist 

Corona viruscovid 19covid-19political poempolitical poetrypolitics

◄ My absent companion

Seed of the fruit ►

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