England, June 24th 2016
Kicked off its axis,
The world turns into a dark star
At the wrong end of a long telescope.
That torpedo sank the Lusitania and is still smoking.
No one knows which scapegoat still cowers behind closed doors.
No one prays in silence when praying is condemned.
No one speaks.
Once again, the scorched earth
Takes its place in deep space
Alongside perma-frosted hell-holes
From which no life escapes;
No cockroaches, no voices of reason.
Hang up a smoke-laden coat
For the particles to disperse,
Watch gale force winds rip it apart,
Watch glaciers creep into Mediterranean fields
Where Kafka’s Gregor Samsa wakes,
Discovers he’s a giant bug once again, and simply breathes.
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More About
Ian Smith
I’m a full time, un-agented, debut English socialist political writer, suspended by the UK Labour Party for supporting Jeremy Corbyn. One self-published novel, Tony Blair: The Wilderness Years (Createspace, 2003), set in Scotland where I once lived. Booker prize winning Scottish author James Kelman (Dirt Road, How Late It Was, How Late) inspired me with a lecture on vernacularism at Goldsmith’s, University of London (2002).
Peel Moat State Comprehensive School (Craig Cash, BAFTA award-winning writer and producer, Royle Family), Stockport Technical College, Sheffield Polytechnic, GlosCAT, and Goldsmith’s. Short stories: at Mondays Are Murder (Akashic Books). Poems in the North, Seam, and Iota.
