Image credit: Radhitha Ravihansa Sooriyagoda
Expat pundits, grievance peddlers, farts of the old elite!This is not your moment; your moment never is.Take your stinking possets and placebosBrewed in well-lit comfort far from tear-gasAnd neck them down yourselves. I hope you choke.On the barricades there is no wealth of choices,Only opportunities to seize as they ariseAnd only just the single issue, darling: Arseholes Out.You hate it, don’t you, that your well-worn saddleNo longer fits the hobbyhorse you rode?Your misanthropy wrapped in worthy causes,Your social-media fame for being woke,Now trumped by something not at all suburban –Something real that’s happening to us all –But not to you, still cozy in your bubbleTelling other people what to do.
When the dust has settled and the dead are buried,All the gas-queue martyrs laid to rest,You’ll spin your noble part in it on FacebookThough you were fucking Jonah, pal, at best.