My contribution to the EU Referendum debate
A sickly light falls on castle walls
built of breeze blocks,
porous and grimy as old gravestone slabs,
stained by an undercroft flooded with sour ale.
They prop up wonky crenellations gilded with pigeon shit,
while G4S border guards in grey uniforms
patrol the ramparts 24/7 peering through arrow slits.
The drawbridge was pulled up a while ago,
but the outlanders still try to cross the moat,
they say they come in coracles
armed with mobile phones and ninja rope.
Renown and grace are washed up
on this desert isle in a leaden sea,
where much vaunted sovereignty is worth less
than a Queen’s picnic basket
hocked on ebay.
Trepidation reigns instead,
as a Jabberwock NHS galumphs into a Turner sunset.
Cracked teapots at 4 o’clock,
and a crooked smile in Clacton
covers cuts that bite deeper as the March Hare
admits himself to the asylum
where Alice works zero hours
with no respite.
The rich don’t care,
they can afford to dine alone.
Mad Hatter Boris still all blather,
No to foreign workers picking our fruit!
We’ll have much cheaper more delightful strawberries instead,
flown in from Sichuan, China.
(The Dormouse isn’t impressed).
A pack of cards re-shuffled but
no-one comes up trumps,
and all too soon the cupboards are bare,
too many promises to fulfil,
there’s no money left for castles in the air.