The gates of London.

Illiterate economists,
Never ever on the level.
Across the North they spew their bribes,
False sympathy from the devil.
At home restless activists click,
Huddled all night over hot screens,
Build rainbows across boundaries,
Spun from the finest hope filled dreams.
A reckoning is on its way,
Whilst Tories cream the public purse,
Smell the rotten speculation,
Beneath rock bottom things get worse,
Bent City dogs eat each other,
Pandemic gravy has run out,
No place left to run for cover,
No more margins worth half a shout.
When the system runs out of gas,
Gangsters do what they always do,
Promise bigger crumbs from tables,
Then screw us all, from me to you.
Organise now, we must not wait,
Barbarians are through the gates,
If we do not then we will see
Tsunamis of austerity.

Harry Rogers, in the Red Bedroom, 7th March 2021.