How blessed am I
to live beneath a strong and stable sky
and the warmth it enables me
from a sun that shines down,
strongly and stably.
Me, with these strong and stable legs,
that take me past the queues
of people – long unable to be fed –
waiting to give thanks
outside the strong and stable food banks,
and beyond where the library once was,
now strongly converted
to stable a private medical centre,
that makes the sick (but financially abler)
stronger and stabler.
And further on, the school
strongly lacking in staple equipment –
whiteboards, books, teachers –
all signs of a strong and stable commitment
to the dismantling of lives.
I thank the government
for such strong and stable times
then wander to the park, alone,
pausing to watch a cricket match.
I bend to sit upon the bench,
and fall through its rotted slats.
Not much happened that first day –
the day the inquiry began –
the wind blew, a blackbird sang,
a shoe was found on the sand.
And the next day was the same.
Add in the bleating of a lamb,
a stick floating down a stream,
an early morning traffic jam.
And so it was, and so it was,
that the days turned into years,
and the people came and went –
their lives, their loves, their words.
Dynasties rose, empires fell,
species evolved over time.
Continents drifted further apart,
stars disappeared from the sky.
Dark energy increased in density,
all matter began to distort,
the universe collapsed in on itself,
then out came the Chilcot Report.
What the debates have taught me,
whether Brexit or Remain:
the realm of British politics
is a squalid, mean domain.