Friday, 8 May 2020

A Letter from Anthony Hill

The arrogants climb the hill,
soily mob footed. 

"We allus have it" 
They chant in unison. 

As a result, some fuck off
to join another can. 

Can sycophants are atop a' ready, 
drinking the liquor's arse and dance. 

In a shallow 'neath a cross, 
The dilettantes offer a toast

"To the cod psychos". Connected,
they eat aspirations and finger

for an excuse to bin the lecture off
and forget the where of

the paper on recyclability stance. 
Happening to be ants. 

And I'm much more not
than you. Respair and

wig out chaps,
with thanks. 

No comments:

Post a Comment