The Advent of Mr Nothing
by Kevin Higgins
All the messiahs safely crucified;
the choice again, as it should be,
between the Imp of All Lies
and Mr Nothing.
We’re again outside the padlocked gate.
Should anyone think of scaling the wall,
the garden is now patrolled
by wolves with orders to dine first,
and be exonerated in the inquiry later.
Those who shouldn’t be in jail
are that bit more securely there.
Those who sleep in doorways
that bit more completely know their place;
those who own islands
are that bit more secure on theirs.
Celebrity paedophiles chuckle
to themselves in their graves.
And the Brigadier General
can unclench in the knowledge
his plans for the war after next –
nowhere you’ve heard of yet –
will be given a white-toothed