The Minister for Justice
The minister who would bring back hanging,
the minister who was a hatchet man
in his previous incarnation,
the minister who hates every blogger and free thinker
and hates the ease with which his face
puffballs into lampoonery. The minister
who for all we know has draped every mirror
in home and office with the shrouds
he imagines neatly folded and pristine
awaiting the day the gallows are used again,
the day the trap-door drops and the rope
snaps tight. The minister whose face
is its own accusation. The minister whose jowls
are the soft flesh before it decomposes.
The minister whose white fingers would baulk
from the trigger or the lever or the button.
The minister who will delegate, avert
his eyes, let someone else dirty their hands.
A Snake in the Grass
(after Brian Patten)
I give you a poem about the state of things
You say it’s cynical and pessimistic
You ask for something positive
You ask for a nice poem
I show you a newspaper headline
You say you don’t follow current affairs
You say politics is boring
You ask for a nostalgic poem
I give you a poem about the miner’s strike
I give you a poem about race riots
I give you a poem about the Sex Pistols
You ask for a poem about childhood
I give you a poem about bullies and victims
I show you a newspaper headline
I tell you I recognise those bullies
Masquerading under different names and faces
You say we can’t change things, you or I
You advocate making the best of it
You say politics is boring
I dip a nib in blood and bile and battery acid
And I give you a poem about unelected governments
I give you a poem about acts of parliament
About the sons of Eton making the rules
About freedom of speech and the flame held under it
I give you a poem about zero hour contracts
And the death of unionism
I give you a poem about business models
And the auction of healthcare
I give you a poem that uses the metaphors
Of a wrecking ball, a scrapyard
And a demolition site
I use these metaphors to talk about liberty
You say you don’t follow current affairs
You say politics is boring
You say we can’t change things, you or I
You ask for a poem about nature
I give you a snake in the grass
.
.
Neil Fulwood says: I’n such times it’s either howl dementedly or write poems with a pen dipped in battery acid. I opted for the latter.’
