Wednesday, 12 September 2012

Which Side Are You On? [5.]

                    1997, the Union Club
                 on Pershore Rd.
                        a victory for someone
            or something

         We were mad
                      with the smuggled in Export
                 youngish monsters
        baring our non-activity
            unelected in our comic crowns
   bejewelled in theory

                Our faces didn't fit
                      and our shaved heads
                               our lapels
         with badges missing

     The word was SCORN (spilt ink
                           on nice clean sheets)
                  peeping out
                           from beneath our lids

         and the bunting coming down
      while we were idiot dancing
               shining like God watchers
             in the light of their laboured hate

              Then home again
                              home again
         vast in the back seats
                 declaring our sure sons’ love

                    As Mother drove
            we offered her
         strings of exquisite threats
                     for her unnamed enemies
             for mythed-up history
                       of slick class slights

              O that we might have
           voices that hurt
                      and shake so
                               red and wounded

            burning at the starting shot
                     to be revolting always and
               with our unbit tongues
                           like the best of animals


  1. declaring our sure sons’ love

    As Mother drove
    we offered her

    -- this moves from Ritual to Romance and then back again. The matriarchal goddess always needs defending.

  2. Very true, though this particular Goddess is fierce enough at times, it must be said.

    Her fire is ours, there being no daughters.

  3. I feel the scathing anger in the car. It burns. Ouch.
    "The word was SCORN..." so perfect.

  4. We were very fierce in those days.

    I'd been a bit worried about capitalising there. It seemed a bit too brash but I went with the dirtier instinct. Thanks, Susan. I feel good about it now.

  5. something sort of similar to this, theme, has been brewing in my head. inspiration sir, thanks.