This Union Means Jack

Twitching limply atop an Ulster lamppost Like a hung man, legs kicking in spasm at the last seconds of life Its bigoted purpose now spent and now abandoned to the elements No longer recognisable as the flag of union, a rag, a disgrace Its fate summarises the fall of a culture that once honoured it A proud nation of proud men, of starched collars and stiff upper lip Colonially pink maps on schoolroom walls bore testament to empire An empire won and lost when the map turned from pink to red Up and at ’em lads! For King and country! Hold the banner high! Ypres and the Somme, regiments of the brave under one colour The twitching curtains of multi-culture now fearful of the emblem The emblem of abhorrence uncased by those not qualified to fly it Patriotism, a narrow path parting pride from prejudice Defined by a flag, one duplicitous fluttering cloth, a split personality Now the badge of hooligan, xenophobe and pop diva Courage now gone, bleached by sun, washed by rain…atop an Ulster lamp post