By Ben Conway

 

Six weeks in,

no pun intended.

Do you see how it seems

like we all weren’t offended.

 

Drawn and quartered,

a somewhat appropriate portion.

Of something

worth seeing to see.

 

A lesson reminded,

to be child and align with.

That silly side

forgotten in threes.

 

So this is,

is where I call it.

“don’t be that kid”.

 

Arrogance, entitlement.

Like our balls or appropriate other

are swollen.

 

Looking down like pigeons,

that crown London roofs.

Cacking all over,

necks stretched out to prove.

 

I did it myself.

So laugh while you read this.

Brought from inside,

my regent defeatist.

 

 

But who are we

to hammer the gavel.

And why are we able

to gabble the gabble.

 

When standards are high,

I was more than surprised,

We weren’t long them

and we weren’t long trying.

 

So just chime to the czar.

Forget who you were

and become who you are.

 

Utterly deliberate.

Hypnotic and rhythmic.

Dumbfounded with oohs and arrs.

 

In the last draw of breath,

I want to contest.

The people we may have become.