Building mausoleums to the past

is all we are good for–

chiselling out the warped

features of dead well-knowns,

slotting them into stone with angel wings stuck on,

making them the centrepiece of

every municipal flowerbed,

their waxwork smiles inspiring day-trippers

pouring off the heritage steam railway,

that runs like clockwork on Saturdays and Sundays,

and is lovingly cared for–the rails polished

every morning.

On a far flung industrial estate,

the old knife and fork foundry,

known for its finely crafted bone handles,

has been relocated overseas, along with a few biscuit factories,

and in its place, a bijou outlet run by a start-up charity

with mission statement wrought above the gate,

imploring us to work for free.

Nearer to home,

halfway down the brutalist shopping precinct,

an unbuttoned Wetherspoon’s drunk

has just declared his intention to slash

on a crate of knock-off goods,

placed against the wall of the Value Pharmacy,

where it is cheaper these days to treat your headache

ague, or terminal condition. No-one intervenes–

afraid their box-fresh trainers might get splashed.

They’re selling blinkers on street corners now,

for nervous consumers,

as well as hawking finger-spinners

to fill the existential anxiety gap–

and the local rag has learnt from its betters

how to trumpet a variety of fake news–

about the anti-dairy marketing board

promising to bring back the long-necked milk bottle

as well as the death penalty.

Hipsters brew for hours

inside the newly-opened artisan bakery,

publicly fuming over the fate of some bi-polar

minke whales adrift off the Suffolk coast,

or the proposed fracking of designated picnic

areas in the New Forest–

such a shame their social media emissions

cannot be converted into

renewables as the Brexit powers that be,

including right-wing liars and climate change deniers

predict a new energy crisis much worse than

the one we had in the 70’s and soon

it will be imperative for

all the earth’s seams to be opened up,

so that little children can learn

how to be chimney sweeps again.



2 thoughts on “Nostalgia

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