I dreamt I was in a time machine

locked in a flow of time in between

the present and the floating past.

A dial showed the passing years;

an error occurred in nineteen forty

a warning light flashed red at faulty.

 

The scene had changed,

the world rearranged.

Devastation on English streets

smells of cordite in the air

air raid sirens, ambulance bells

fireman's hoses, a scene from hell.

 

Fearful for my very life

I rushed into a house's shell

to find a computer strangely blinking

with Facebook glowing on the screen

in a ghastly apoplectic light.

 

I understood the gravity

of a fault that pinned me in double time

so with morbid curiosity

I trawled the facebook page to find

a sequence of the current age:

 

"Adolf Hitler wants to be friends,

and for the war he'll make amends,

let's be daring, try power sharing,

there's really no need to die by the sword."

 

A picture came up of his friend Benito

with a vague invasion style finito.

Eva Braun in the Berthesgarten

with not so much as a beg your pardon.

Comments included "who's the doggy,

does Bavaria ever get foggy?"

"Adolf Hitler likes this!"  (well he would,

'cause facebook friends are always good).

 

Then a shot of good old Goebbels

firing his luger and throwing snowballs.

A group of English aristocrats

gathered around in tweeds and spats

with pop up ads from Aquascutum

and pheasant hunts and where to shoot 'em.

 

Then Biggin Hill in readiness

with a thumbs up from the officers' mess

when an ad for hot chocolate came right up

with a gratifying steaming cup.

 

Suddenly the scene had changed,

an incendiary bomb had just gone off

and blown me up to kingdom come,

the fault was permament and one by one

the images gave way to sky

and with an earthly rending cry

 

I awoke in bed to hear the telly,

with a dodgy curry in my belly.