The trouble with continually crying wolf

is that you end up being trampled

by the herd of elephants in the room,

you for too long ignored

and who will make of you an example;

like it or not, I’m a poet,

whether a good one

or a bad one’s

for you to decide;

but if there’s a line,

my task’s not to toe it,

but to write it,

to tell it out loud,

tell the truth as I see it,

not describe the world as bigots wish it;

that’s the trouble with crying wolf,

the bullshit in your china shop

will eventually run rampant

and your stinking dreams will rot;

so, sorry sunshine,

I’m not here to provide you

with so-called fucking “balance”;

my poems ain’t a bloody see-saw,

some jackanory invention

of convenient omissions;

yer average British Bullshit Corporation reporter

I ain’t; they're at least twice now proven to have lied

about the numbers of Palestinians

who weren’t really killed, but passively “died”.

The trouble with crying wolf

to distract from your own evil deeds,

is that the cash cow of war,

may trample you for its frenzied needs;

so, I don’t accidentally-on-purpose

forget to mention that

the so-called “conflict”

didn’t begin on October the seventh 2023

that it’s a “grass-mowing” war,

part of a seventy-five year long Nakba,

a disposession and destruction

of tens of thousands of homes.

Those “deaths” your hear of on the Beeb

were “shootings” they were “killings”

of childen throwing stones

at illegal occupiers of their homeland.

That’s the trouble with crying wolf;

you and yours end up being trampled

by the herd of elephants in the room

which you chose to ignore,

who will make of you an example.

So no, I’m not your client hack

churning out lies

on behalf of a fascist state;

yes, for sure,

I have too much time

on my hands;

time to write,

time to not shut up,

to not go away,

and so to not have

blood on them.