Patronage

 

Patronage

 

It is the state of it, the state of the nation,

it is what it is at the railway station,

in every coffee shop on every street,

from your eye teeth to your fungus feet,

meaningless grins that meet and greet

and you want to punch its lights out,

punch its clock, gag it with infected sock

wrapped around a jagged block

fashioned from spat out volcanic rock,

maybe then it’d be pleased to stop,

I doubt it, it’s conditioning, it’s mate, it’s dude,

empty proxy for something rude,

while hoping that you choke on food

it drudged on saucer with a dab slap hand,

open mouth surgery, brainless, bland

advice dispensed as you part with pence,

the train’s delayed, it’s cancelled, it’s broke,

go outside if you want to smoke,

don’t forget your receipt, it’s on platform three,

we stopped selling papers because no one reads,

I’m vegan and they chop down trees,

and that’ll be nine pound twenty, please,

you’re arrested for unattended bags,

slipstreams from the train that drags

so you’d better hang onto your pushchairs,

stand well back from the platform, dear,

stand well back from the world and cheer

there’s nothing left and there’s nothing here.