Yeah, I’m old, what’s it to you?
You in your grace and favour,
Middle aged, luxury life.
Who the fuck are you to think
It’s OK to throw away
Over eighties like rubbish?
To portray Covid nineteen
As a tool for removal
Of elderly people now
Surplus to requirements?
With four hundred and twenty
Members of the House Of Lords
Over the age of Seventy,
Making the laws of the land,
You think it acceptable
To dismiss us at a stroke?
Well, Mr Spaffy Bollocks,
I have some grave news for you,
We ain’t going gracefully.
You can’t shuffle us all off
Into your herd immunity
Chicken pox party parlours,
To die, agonisingly,
We refuse to accept it.
You cannot avoid the truth.
Chickens, poxed or otherwise,
Come home to roost with vengeance.
We’re coming for you, Johnson,
It is time to call you out.
You are a selfish bastard,
With nazi proclivities,
An old school eugenicist,
Prone to racist utterance,
Populist embarrassment,
You use naked harassment
To besmirch democracy.
We are going to send you
An electoral message
That will get right up your nose,
Assuming that there is no
Rolled up fiver already there.
Now it’s time for you to take
Your fake, smirky, boyish charm,
Into has been wilderness.
We see you, you fucking crook,
See you, even though we’re old,
This time we will not forget.

Harry Rogers, In the Red Bedroom, 27th May 2021.