Monday, May 13, 2019

                                    


Red Sky

The revolution was to be televised live; 
kick off this afternoon.  Sky had bought the rights.  
We sat all comfy relaxing on the sofa 
scoffing the biscuits Garibaldi baked.  
Turned on, tuned in, 
Molotov mixed the drinks; done the shaky thing.  
Trotsky fetched the ice.
  
But we had forgot to turn the clocks back
in time for October’s winter constitution.  
There was a Marx Brothers film still showing 
and Karl, with the bushy beard,  he was singing 
about the proletariat, telling jokes about 
the sanity clause in social contracts.  
We lapped it up like duck soup; 
laughed so much went opiate dizzy, 
except Mao Tse–Tung who kept going on and on 
about this little red book, so we sent him out 
for a long walk to get chow mien and a chop suey. 

A quick word from the Lenin Vodka sponsors 
and it all began.  General Ludd had the plans 
and the spanners, whilst Captain Swing leapt into action 
with the Tolpuddle posse.  But things didn’t quite go 
as anticipated when some street-fighting man, 
having drunk a little too much lager, spewed-up 
on Airstrip One and it all got very messy.

Power cut - the are lights out.
Burston kids providing chaos like St Trinians
miners or minors striking for their rights again. 
Then came the riot police on the pitch, 
they think it’s all over.  
It is now.  
The pubs are open.

Still, we thought it rather cute, that in England 
Trade Unionist took coloured banners for a little stroll, 
whilst in France, heads would roll.


© 2006  P.A.Levy
first published by No Teeth 2009