A Connection, I Suppose

This body politic is infected

broken down by a pathogen that’s half self aware

half selfish

insidious in nature

consuming in scope

and proud to say it’ll get us

before any other disease will

a form of connection

I suppose

This country’s economic ghetto

is under the thumb

held in stasis by a financial Cosa Nostra

maintaining order through exploitation

and tradition through corruption

with ageing Dons counting cash

assuring the hungry that it only gets worse

when new gangs arrive

holding us safe from invasion,

only to kill us themselves

a form of connection

I suppose

This home and castle

has a Lord

claiming Prima Nocta

to fuck us

and calling it Right

because who put up the walls that keep the enemy out?

Who swings the sword against the outsider

even before we’ve heard their name

or had a chance to know why they came

attention drawn away

by cap doffing obedience

to Regal right

a form of connection

I suppose

This story has no ending

not the way it’s told

the dulcit tones just carry on

until the body’s cold

always reassuring

that the teller’s got it right

always disavowing

any poor, unknown insight

It’s words are getting louder

it’s silences obscure

and the chance of thinking round it

ain’t quite there any more

a form of connection

I suppose

But we still have one reminder

of what we were and are

beneath all of the diseases

and Mafiosi power

we’re the one’s who live life

not the ones who say it loud,

not the ones who run it

or build walls

and steal crowns

and sooner rather than later

the body will react

locals will stop paying dues

all that bowing we’ll retract

we’ll find the final fullstop

start on another page

and all of those connections

will be from a dying age