CONDESCENDENCE shall be my word
And my new world the ideal perfection
Of total devotion.
Here I am, naked with my sins,
Too much I loved
The human animals, the bloody commoners,
Whose songs I sang in my poems.
And I was too concerned
With their lives,
Scratching at the edge of a miserable existence:
Two pounds fifty an hour
Is the price of a devoted English slave,
Less than a cheap cup of tea,
Sipped at the Plaza, when the rain falls.
And I sang of them, lying in the streets,
Their exploited sorrows dressed with shame,
And I didn’t sing the rotten feelings,
Encrusted with diamonds and rubies
Of governmental whores.
But now, here I am, bending my head,
My velvety tongue is ready
To serve the miraculous forum,
The concoction of perfection named democracy.
My tongue is now properly shaved,
To serve, with a better service
Than this toilet paper.
Yes!, I scream.
I am all consumed by the hemorrhoids
Of Her Majesty’s dogs.
Please I won’t rhyme the name of Blair
With despair, surging from the ashes
Of a new socialist fascism.
I will be there, writing my hymns,
To hide the rotten body of this unsung Empire.
And if I did wrong,
If I had been naughty with my verses,
That was my infamous past.
Your wondrous future I want to sing.
PLEASE, ALL THE SINS CONDONATE
TO THE NEW POET LAUREATE.