Flags in the fields, flags on the hills, flags on the moon,
like you can claim it, name it
and it's yours
no matter what,
no blame in it, you can blame it,
for your identity.
The thought of flags has me flagging,
when I think of the flogging,
the blood that nourished the soil,
growing soft hatred
like cotton down offered in infected blankets.
Manifest destiny, we can blame them,
but what about us? What about you? what about me
surrounded by stags and heather and thoughts of
freedom?
The bricks of our academic institutions
bought on the backs of slavery,
brought by the whacks and wounds of bravery.
But they put *Elmer Moffat in the Whitehouse
we say,
Well at least he's out now
returns the reply,
yet we still have a goat or a fawn of treachery,
a thorn in our sides, a fawn to be fawned over,
controlled by the white witch, the white queen,
no, not a woman, not for those cronies,
Eton mess indeed, lacking in sweetness,
salt without flavour.
Waving their flags of privilege,
wearing their corona masks,
pretending they recognised the problem,
banning our Corona consumption, unless you do it alone,
whilst gluttony fills them, fuels them, frees them
from us.
Until we are heated,
healed by the sun's corona,
and we move on,
melting into history.
*Elmer Moffat is a character from The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton, who is a crass and grasping business man.
For more of my poetry check out my debut poetry book - Shadows of the Invisible - A Journey Into Identity - available on amazon in paperback and e-book format - free on Kindle Unlimited - click the link below for this evocative poetry collection.
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