'Run Rabbit Run' Poem by jim hogg

Behind the begonias and between the tomes,
the sinistra wilt before simplicity.
Crosland, cigar in hand, poses magisterial
and unbelieving, on some stolid but unseen wall.
Bevan lies face down in a cellar of dust
or hangs ignored in some shadowed hall,
disgusted, and most of the rest
have arrows through their heads
for having hearts.

Flabby cheeked child men with pursy eyes
clogged with little webs of salvation juice,
or maybe a mouth-watering future goad,
divide and ruin, with baby jibes that blind.

Cultures of flaccid cells steal votes to oppose
and first of all concede vast swathes of ground
to Margaret's boys and girls and their childish
concerns as they trill at automated tills, and
wait on automated phones for outsourced
service we never dreamt of, when, fifty years ago
we were out of our tiny minds with optimism.

But, cometh the hour, cometh the many:
the 'reserve army of unemployed', arise.
Handy for felling the unions, your finest hour
is now upon you. Be demonised now to save us all!
Be demonised so the working poor will 'strive',
for their memories are short.
Be demonised so the vote of the poor will be split,
for their memories are false.
Be demonised so Gideon and Dave can make it,
for fairness would ruin them.
Be demonised to dispel any doubt that remains:
power and democracy are quietly at war.
The ballot box needs neutering,
and the left have left for the right, so,
be demonised also for no good reason
except your utter weakness.

And maybe from the hammering you take
we might begin to learn
a little about 'power'
that thrashes the weak, and lies;
to turn our minds from thinking, perhaps,
about what it means to 'earn',
a keystone word that opens up -
with a little work -
all the myths that serve
the sociopaths whose bottomless
and serpentine needs
are satisfied by castles
built on the sands
of your innocent trust.




(Run rabbit run - from Rosettes, The Men They Couldn't Hang)