Strayed
The numbers have gone missing,
The dossiers gone astray –
The files unfiled, unreconciled –
It is the British way.
The villains, dark and damp and
Rampant as old rams,
Are out of ploys, except the noise
Made by a shredder's jam.
Someone knows the secret,
Keeps the state afloat,
And how they’re checkered's off the record,
And none have left a note.
Of course it may mean nothing,
Be merely froth and scum –
The documents may not be bent.
We can’t know. They are dumb.
I like it in this country,
I like it here. Don't you?
The country of the free, what glee –
We all begin, brand new.
The past is just the past,
The last decade a blur.
It's better that we wear our hats
As tight as this. Yes, sir.
Click here for a Guardian article
Click here for Bill’s New Statesman research
http://nscompsandpoets.wordpress.com/
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