Down the village street she goes,
past Tescos, past the illiterate graffiti
delimiting horizons. Wee Timmy & Sheila
are away with the mother, never him,
and beyond is the sea, Portsmouth!
I’ll join the Navy, lose ten stone
and stop shopping at the Paki corner store,
every lost ounce will keep Britain free
as once it were before.
Now the French are over the sea ,
behaving themselves,
and the good old days are o’er;
I can’t go running down the docks
like I did with Maggie and Silly Liz
nor act the happy whore. My life
will change, you’ll see, and a range
of opportunities, those things
will open out before me, no more
charity communities, no more
pill-popping take on life. I will
attack France, they seem to need it,
and they are right across the water
within, you might say, spitting distance.
Never mind Iraq and Afghanistan
so far the fuck away you’d be having no interest.
You need wars with people you know.
