a brexiter’s lament

“..the sunlit uplands were scuppered..”

“..by the remoaning of the gutted..”

“..gloating as we sit queueing in dover..”

“..we told you so they keep saying over..”

so imagine if I told you,

drinking a pint of piss would hurt,

you drink it and violently spew,

then complain about the discomfort,

blaming others for the vomit you produce.

mum told them not to pick their nose,

they catch a cold,

then nose bleeds all over the place,

and blame their parents for not being super.

the lament of the faultless,

reality not meeting their deludedness,

sulking about our decision,

not to help them increase division,

and shaking our heads in bewilderment.

“..I chose to lose weight by cutting off my plates..”

“..now I can’t walk and it’s your fault..”

as much as I would love the power to control borders,

I’m not the government you chose,

a government only interested in themselves,

who’d tell lies to get you onside.

lie about the foreigners that take no-one’s job,

the skilled workers that pick our food,

the seasonal staff with freedom to move.

so tell me brexiter did you get what you asked for?

the hard border to protect your white air?

the sunlit uplands of fascist isolation?

or just the effects of lies about others freedoms.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

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