The howling of it causes angst
especially for those living in the
upper floors, who peer beneath
at ant like figures down below.
It wasn’t long ago the place was
built and now the blue and white
of flashing lights that herald police,
and fire responders to the 999 call.
In the aftermath of it once again
will then be posed the question of
who picks up costly insurance tabs,
firms shrinking away from coughing
up if history’s tale could once again be
heard by unaffected blustering clerks,
arguing ‘acts of god’ as shareholders
shall grin and say ‘those poor wee
sods, shall have to pay it from their
mere pittances’ if examples from the
past are yet again robustly heard. I
pity all poor victims so clearly wronged.
As Bobbies in their wind-blown finite
fleet of cars, rightly rally to this noble
cause. Who polices in the aftermath
these tumults cause, and especially
as Armageddon blows its insides out,
pouting left to right and north to south
in fierce and indiscriminate rampant ways.
Woking, this Woking, a canned voice
at the nearby railway station claims.
War of the Worlds was filmed but not
a million miles away from here – and
H.G.Wells might holler from his grave
're-enlist those Aliens, this - time to assist.