NaPoWriMo 2013 poem number 9 in response to the death of former Tory prime minister Margaret Thatcher, which has left a bitter taste in my mouth, and, I fear, a bitter legacy for a long time to come.

WHERE THE DEMONS DREAM

There in Piccadilly outside the Ritz Hotel
Gathered a collection of psychopomps waiting
To see who would have the honour of escorting
The dying leaderene from this world to the next.
The Owl was hooting “It’s my Turn, Ook Ook Ook OoooooK.”
“It’s me, not you, cuckoo cuckoo” squawked the Cuckoo
“Aaark, aaark, aaark, you’re both out for a larK” screamed the Crow
A Dog barked chasing tail in anticipation
The Raven paced around outside the Tube station
The Hart stood patiently erect, in noble silence
Horse pawing the ground in studied indifference
Sparrow hippity hopping from roof to plane tree
The whip-poor-will calling “It has got to be me.”

At five past eleven the end of life doula
Brought out the news that now she was ready to go
And this time it’s the turn of the humble Sparrow
The spirit stood waiting to be led to her fate
Sparrow said “Come out now we dare not arrive late”
They flew off together through the open park gate
To where the devils and the demons all congregate
Leaderene asked the Sparrow “What will I do next?”
“Why you’ll torment the world, your memory is hexed.”
With that Sparrow flew back to the psychopomp team
Leaving Maggie in that place where the demons dream
Where vilest of villains conjure many a story
Known to lots of mere mortals as purgatory