To The Former Times
Golden ages never last…So enjoy it while it lasts. Because it won’t.
- Charles Krauthammer.
Let it be always 1997;
magic Diana from her tomb
and down the red carpet in
something devastating –having deftly
reassembled her skull –to deliver
a Champagne stained rendition
of Candle In The Wind,
accompanied on grand piano
by an equally undead
Centrosensibilism was the dance
crazing the nightclubs. By decade’s end
we were all doing it,
especially me. Years when ‘progressive’ meant
stamping on potential
beggars who’d long inflicted their
antisocial mind-sets on residents
of marginal constituencies, such as Milton Keynes.
Give us back those sacred hours
when one’s colorectal area could be safely
sold off to a public-private partnership,
who’d also bought up most of
the railways in Eastern England;
and everything kept moving
in the usual way, or appeared to,
with just a little less bureaucracy
than in the days of British Rail.
The last coalminer had been liberated
to answer phones
that would eventually be relocated to India.
The future had revealed itself,
and it was this. Peace
breaking out everywhere,
except there, there,
and there. Oh former times!
We so enjoyed the taste of you
we’d make political love to anyone,
who by adjusting the set
slightly, would make this boo boo better.