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.
Copyright © Steven Cooke | Year Posted 2013
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