Shove them where the sun don’t shine

Politics,
a waste of what is left and what is time?

a construct?
the ultimatum?
destination?
a selfie of a self destruct?

fucked if I know
but
I care even less

Banks.

if it’s a mess that we’re in
let them
deal with it,

I’m off and into the wide blue
you
city boys
can poke your sex toys
up yer arses.

horses for courses
where water once flowed.

hey
as opposed to hay
(or it could be apposed
I suppose)
which is a crop,
stop rambling John and
get on with it.

Politics,

Labour?
what labour do they know?
the working class did not pass go
the light’s have always been on red,
vote?
you might as well smoke blue fin,
which is packed in a tin can
by robots and
not by the working man,

The kiss my ass system
and the men
who rule the ruling class
would never have
the dream when
all
men are equal

that’d be their nightmare.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.