I would rather repose

My oft-battered confidence

In a jackal broken loose from the wild

Than to allow you once again

Panel-beat my rights to a state of coma

Iam now convinced

Beyond reasonable doubt that subtle tact

And not fact

Avarice

And not the hope of paradise

Dictates the swing of your creaking scales

Though the facts speak speak for themselves

You are either too deaf to hear

Or too blind to see

People who do not understand you

Run to you for protection

Better provided by an ogre

Beyond the blindfolds

And the pleated dark gown

And the cream tan of wig you carry

Who can come out of your smog-room faultless

If at home he has forgotten

Those ‘bleating’ things

Or by-passed the Mint?

You are causing more commotion

In our midst than arbitration

Let me warn you, hermaphrodite,

If our kids walk on their heads

Or our cocks bleat instead of crow,

We shall force you to eat

Of the wild oats you cooked

In your sooty chambers

Enough of this kangaroo circus!