Poem: Yesterday’s Men
They were all yesterday’s men,
aubergine ties and copper suits,
hair parted just above one ear,
stomachs hallmarked round by
excessive and expensive beers.
They grew up with Status Quo,
drainpipe trousers, the Winter
of Discontent. They swore God,
it will never happen again and
Maggie saved privilege, pride.
To hell with the rest, they said,
accumulating. Punk was dead.
Switch on all the street lights!
They never thought, you see,
that the good times for some
would end. The world boiled.
The circumference of power
was like a snake, consuming
its own tail. Shudders wracked
the corpse of their philosophy.
