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The Death of Baroness Thatcher

by Kevin Higgins

The Death of Baroness Thatcher

(who resigned on November 22, 1990)

after Patricia McGuigan and Alexander Pope

 

Her hair was a headmistress dreaming

of again being allowed to use the cane.

Her ambition was a brass door knocker

on what was once a council house.

Her brain was a conversation about money

Sir Keith Joseph had with himself.

Her back passage was Basil Fawlty

complaining about car strikes to the Major.

The look in her eyes was a shoot to kill policy

in Northern Ireland.

Her sentimentality was a spinster’s thimble

in which you could fit what’s left of the Tory Party

in Scotland, Liverpool, Manchester,

Leeds, Sheffield, Newcastle...

Her clenched fist was a skinhead

in nothing but Union Jack Y-fronts.

She said the word “Europe”

like a woman coming down

from a severe overdose of Brussels Sprouts.

Her Christmases were dinner at Chequers

with a recently deceased sex offender.

Her “out,” “no,” “never”

were striking print workers

being given the cat of nine tails.

Her fingers and thumbs

were ten riot shields in a row.

Her final nightmare

was the silent, black eyed ghosts

of Joe Green and David Jones,

who did nothing but each offer her

a hand.

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