Fair-trade

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

 

 

 

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