George Blamey-Steeden

Photographs courtesy of the sea

Honesty and fabrications
All that glitters can’t be good
Smiles, tears and accusations
Tell a kind of truth no one understood

I live in a hole in the ground
Above live the germs. Happy germs.
They play football most days
In empty stadiums
Mostly though
They can get on your nerves
They knock on my door uninvited
Chanting songs of imaginary guilt
Songs no one needs to know

I’d been hoping
In my forever hole
My neighbours
Were rabbits
Maybe badgers
Definitely not ants
But mainly they are rats
Fat rats, in smart suits
Making money out of politics
And screwing up people’s lives

Next door in the tower
Lives an overfed woodlice
He asked me if I had a gun
I told him I didn’t do guns
But I do climb fences OK
He speaks a lot
But doesn’t say much
He doesn’t like…

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