You begged and begged,

now you’re forever in their debt;

they’ll stretch a net the size of the IMF

to show your nakedness and fuck

your corrupt infrastructure.

 

Coping mechanisms will fracture;

a foreign contractor will copy and paste

public space into a simulacrum;

the beef and gammon now in fashion

will unfasten your native culture.

 

The bitter pills they’ll make you take

will only constipate. You’ll look much fatter.

Still you won’t feel full, there’ll be a pull

on your tongue, a hunger for the butt-ends

that you suck on after scraping the gutter.

 

You’ll need a stick to help you stagger

from the Shock Therapy Suite,

where tourists pay to contemplate

the rhythm of your feet

before you go under.

 

The rest you won’t remember.