After the Bombs Fall

	You make the world in your own image.
	  The remorseless banks of piggery
	that snatch at your meagre savings,
	  without interest while throwing
	millions to a shady property developer
	  who build homes beyond the reach of
	those who build them.
	  Organised crime will be much more
	sophisticated, in the form of off-shore
	  tax-avoidance, and dirty-money
	  Drugs could be delivered by well-known
	brand couriers, much like the East India
	  Company did yester-year. 
	A date via Tinder or Plenty of Fish
	  for a one-night stand, or a wife with
	a beard who can still give birth but
	  won’t be known as mother.
	You can act as you like, be anyone
	  you’d like to be, dress as you like,
	piss where you like, be in any hospital
	  ward you like, or any prison cell you
	like, with full genitalia.
	  Meanwhile, back in your damp, black-moulded
	flat, having visited the food-bank, and
	  paid off your education fees, like a mortgage,
	you can read about they who flaunt their
	  wealth in your tabloid. Protest, if you’re
	envious of these fine philanthropists,
	  while you work away in your underpaid job,
	where you didn’t get a proper wage-rise for 
	  what seems decades now.  
	If that three million pound yacht is
	  out of reach, or that five million pound
	house, at least you can join in our 
	  climate-change programme.
	  Reagan taught Thatcher that.
	No more coal-mines, no more heavy industries,
	  no more militant trade, unions. 
	No more socialism?  
	  Now we need to persuade Russia,
	especially China, to do the same. 
	  It’s saving the planet for a free world.
	Sorry, got to go, must catch a plane, I’m
	  delivering bombs.  

	Wilson John Haire. 16th February, 2022.

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