New World Of Squeak Poem by Paul Wilson

New world of squeak, I hear you speak
But where are all your people?
They are cultivating their
Allotments in The Times
- a thin chalk ground from which emerge
Unhealthy black opinions.
Oh, world of squeak, I hear you shriek
From my bomb-proof bunker!

And from the Ministry of ‘WORK'
A terse communiqué is issued.
It reads: ‘Will those
Who've yet to register, do so now -
Each moment makes it worse! '
Whatever this means, its noble verse
Is sure to strike straight at the heart
Of those who lurk in dingy prose.