Once the clowns, the class clowns all other kids now shrunk back from in Earth-swallowing embarrassment, playpenned my country and trashed it for a laugh
I began to keen for exile
And when the crooks, their mates, had stripped down the dump of every last remaining ounce or speck of any value
I prayed to be deported
And when the cranks then squeezed the final cloudy drops of decency from every other single thing round here
I paid up and I raced towards the trucks
And then, when after all of that the chancers, in the others’ wake, began to cadge off all of us for just another roll despite having already blown the lot
I held my breath and crammed into the gap
And then when the careerists smiled with patronising eyes and turned away to laugh again too loudly at the monsters' jokes
I slide down pebbles on the beach
And when the charlatans at last monopolised the sole remaining free churned patch of mud - my land - as solely theirs to shit on as they please
I waded out towards the rubber dinghies
Finally then confident that if, as seemed too likely I should soon be floating downwards to the dappled seabed, lungs ballasted with brine
At least they do not own my refuge.
Yet.