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As she unhooked the sky, the gull in her brain complained.
Unbuttoning her ears she let in the harsh of morning birds,
early today. Seeking an affirmative that she hadn’t passed
into an alternative zone she selected the signifier to confirm
her in the conservative sector where OO Fatuus Maximus
elected to address the realm upon an issue of compliance.
He compiled it whilst bicycling beyond his own boundaries
emulating His Dismissive Highness who explored Northern
Territories in search of The Holy Grail – one who will offer
sanctuary to his offspring – location of such a benefactor
among the nine million, three hundred and four thousand
that swarmed over the Capital of In-Out-Flip-Flop Land, HDH
failed to unearth – due, one suspects to mandatory expulsion
to the furthermost regions (hanging now being abolished)
if aforesaid offspring so much as whimpered – he’d learnt
this mimicry listening to his father’s minions. Democracy
demands one restriction, one imposition of law, applies to all
without fear or favour, whether friend or foe to the fair OO
or being recipient of patronage from his dismissive highness
whose journey was an emergency as, indeed, was his jaunty
picnic to a nearby beauty spot, the latter being to test if his eyes
were sufficient for driving – the few hundred miles in driving
North not being sufficient assessment. Sympathetic acceptance
of this dilemma was shown by Fatuus, also a father – Maximus.
(Unaware, despite private school, that a snip in time saves nine.)
Cynics fail to appreciate how these quandaries benefit the nation.
Many had predicaments resolved: to obey the proscribed edicts
or visit their widowed mother half a mile down the road, she’d
fallen the day before and hospital not possible, while others took
heart in the old adage of goose and gander allowing a triumphant
roar from the virus.
Ruth O’Callaghan has published 11 collections of poetry, most recently Unportioned (Salmon Poetry, 2019). 21st-century Poetry is edited by Andy Croft, email [email protected]