January 2010.I. Anybody.

In Africa the football hits the grass

Like a big, congealed blood clot

And bright young men fall over injured,

 Or blanch and die.

The African cup helicopters are in HD on my TV,

 But I am outside shovelling snow.

 

The airline bomber sets his underpants on fire

And a man is stabbed in a London street.

 Fanatics daily bomb Pakistani innocents

As Hell freezes over.

We should pile the bodies high by Nelson's column,

 Visible cuplability to cultural disaster.

 But I am too busy to do this, I am shovelling snow.

 

The House of Lords doesn't represent me,

 The Duck House Parliament doesn't benefit me.

 Who fed the curry house conspirators,

 Was it expensives?

Will liars elect to tell the truth?

 Unknown I stoop outside to shovel snow.

 

Bonus snow sits high in the branches

Of stark silhouettes and long winter shadows.

Snow flakes to the ground and ices the paths.

 I have my head down,

Determined to shovel snow

 And make some progress.