Sunday September the 24th, 7.10pm
Saturday, 20 April 2024 13:20

Sunday September the 24th, 7.10pm

Published in Poetry

Image above from Skwawkbox: Activist Audrey White manhandled by Keir Starmer’s entourage as she gives him a piece of her mind on behalf of outraged Scousers (image by Linda Sergeant)

Sunday September the 24th, 7.10pm

by Kevin Higgins

I have finally tracked you down.
Or at least am in the same city as you now.
I see from social media you
arrived a couple of days ago and are
looking for any excuse to give yourself
another round of applause.
You are telling them the story
about how, as a boy, your family once
had their telephone cut off.
But that won’t be happening again.

From the maturity of your response
to the absurd pleading
of those who hoped
to be let out of the basement
and given some air,
it’s crystal
there’ll be none of that nonsense
on your watch
but free flags for everyone
which must at all times be carried
or flown by anyone who doesn't want
their passport suspended.

For the exchequer-funded undead
who scuttle about the kingdom in medieval dress
the festival will continue.
Basement dwellers
will be allowed out appointed days
to watch their betters go past
and wave their happy little flags.

The twilight coming down on me,
as I wait for the airport taxi that will carry me
closer again to you,
is the same twilight you’d see
if you ever did anything so average
as look out a window.
Too busy kangarooing room to room
being extravagantly pleased with yourself.

In private, your anger is a big fish
thrashing on the deck of a trawler
desperate for somewhere to go
which is why, according to my sources
you sometimes throw
office furniture around the place.

You don't know me
yet. But I know what time
you'll be at the restaurant,
made my reservation this morning.
I’m enjoying
the thought of your face