Have you noticed those faces
upholstered in the leather
of too many a Spanish summer
Their cheeks and noses a cracked
purple-red road map
to every vineyard in France
Angry flat caps
sat in big-bullying cars
shouting out the corner of their immaculately kept gardens
to stir up the pub chorus
of the young and disenfranchised
with a copy of their Daily Telegraph
Conductors of the
late night rawkus
10 pint fighter
too fat to not topple over in high heels
wankered on half a weeks minimum wage
Slurred frustrations
taken out on takeaway accents
too thick to understand
that salt and spices are both ways
of masking the taste of shit meat
‘See, where’e all the same boat here’
croons he
who hiding behind Guardian
delivers diatribe kindly
from astride his
jam-jar of flat white IPA
Chooses with a considered irony
to piss away his protests to porcelain
by scrawling pithy paraphrases
of someone obscure
to a Shorditch toilette
where activism is now no more than
an aesthetic
Bumps Ket off keys
to a house worth the GDP of
whichever small country’s problems it is
he has resolved
from the comfort of an armchair spliff
and fair-trade cup of coffee
Like there’s some guarantee
that blood is hasn’t been spilt over either