Toxic
The air is thin and sour,
The breath is faint or forced:
The lungs possess no earthly power,
Words are mere exhaust.
Wind is filled with stink,
The breeze is clogged with grime:
Thoughts are like a kitchen sink
That’s filling up with slime.
Refugees aren’t fancied
By the lolling eye:
The airstream’s rough and rancid.
There is mildew in the sky.
Every day a movement
Towards a greater bad:
All notion of improvement
Is thought to be a fad.
Larded men and women
Pleat their breath with rot:
Nothing lifts us out of grim
Ineptitude; we’re shot.
We should stick together?
Inside these shrieking fogs?
Isolationeers in filthy weather
Send us to the dogs.
Boris, Donald, Jacob,
When we read your names,
The air seems toxic and we take up
Handcarts, head for flames.
