Seriously delayed

When silence descends
she
who tends to you
whispers
it’ll be okay.

In the waiting room of
the nanny state
we count flies on the
countless flyers for
Bognor and Brighton,
it makes me wonder
why we put the light on
at all.

But we’re walled in
and
some are bemoaning their fate,
does the nanny state care?
there, there,
kiss it better
begging letter
let me go

and do you know they
never do.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.