Meager

We are numb and we are weak, for what must we fight for?
we need not redden our hands, nor suits, with the blood of animals,
as they lie waiting for the lower-class man, holding arrows to their own necks,
sweating with unnatural obesity in heaps of unneeded shit,
the same shit that they lick off the arses of their bosses,
of men with more money than themselves, of stone faced mother-in-laws,
of their children, who are strangers, of Thatcher, and of the best educated man.
Dig. Dig. Dig.

We are numb and we are weak, for what must we fight for?
We healed the cracks in our feet when we shrunk the Earth,
shrunk it with motor engines, and aeroplanes,
and stripped Poseidon naked and pathetic, using two hundred feet of metal.
The other half of the world which, for it’s inhabitants, remains full-sized,
we shall view kindly from behind celebrity presenters,
wondering why they are so, so weak, whilst one son battles an ox with his hands.

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