The Thatcher Years

No poppies for madam that privilege is reserved for the common man. Drape her coffin with Union jack though there is no union for me. Your guard of honour is expecting you, made from the empty shell of boys who left their dreams on Falkland hill. This life that you once held will be remembered . The miner’s bones will see your corpse for death came to them with broken heart, their blood was washed away and community was lost of hope In the weeping’s of a crying pit. The taste of rabbit stew still stays upon my lips, for I shared my bread with neighbours, while boys in blue waved five pound notes and beat their shields in rhyme, for they were truly, Maggie’s whores. This common man seeks redemption for you but forgiveness is for God to give. These pearly gates that your spirit seeks among the hymns that praise this earth are but remnants of the pit gates and in their rust they are jammed shut to you. The chosen few were Maggie’s men their daggers have been cleaned of blood. The wits will praise your passing, A final toast to Caesar, “she came, she saw, she conquered” but in truth they know, the evils of today still carry your mark. Iron lady your soul will seek the light But your light went out long ago during the Devils reign. Lost in the furnace of men lost in the pride of England. And now your service has ended redundancy killed you too. Your victories have gone into history but Steel and coal and the grafters of England will never forgive you.