Poetry

Neurotypicals
Seem odd because they can't see
The trees for the wood

I saw a poster the other day
that said it's OK
to not be OK

I was sitting in a waiting room
while others sit
or just exist
on a waiting list
for months or years
Worsening trauma, growing fears
Not serious enough to jump the queue
or get what's good for you
Bide your time
stand in line
wait your turn
And as you wait, maybe you'll learn
to be more resilient
that would be brilliant
Parity of esteem?
in your dreams
The stuff of inspriation memes
Buzz words
fuzz words
nothing does words
Set targets
trust the market
It will decide
and it will provide
for those who pay

I wanted to clap at the funeral today
But I think that is seen as poor taste
I longed to applaud such a brilliant speech
But I feared it would seem out of place

I wanted to shout 'Hear! Hear!' when you said
Deceased was a wonderful chap
The whole of me knew this was so very true
I was craving to let out a clap

Those who fought it
or those who caused it?

Those who saved sixty-five
or those who cost seventy-two?

Those who did not know the tower was clad in torchwood
or those who chose that cladding because it was cheaper?

Those whose chosen job is to walk into burning buildings to save life
or those whose careers are built on making money by cutting corners?

More intimate with
Intimate moisturiser
Than I'd like to be

I fancied some titilating photos
   so I went on an upskirting hunt
I didn't really care about consent,
   that's if I'm being blunt
I came across Sir Christopher
   and thought I'd have a punt
I'd capture a peek of his private parts,
   I'd chortle and I'd grunt
It seemed to me a great idea, 
   a harmless and witty stunt
But what was the image my camera showed?

Work hard, be conscientious, be afraid
Your life won't be worth living if you fail
The only thing that matters is your grade

Feel guilty for each error you have made
Learn quotes by rote and don't stop to exhale
Work hard, be conscientious, be afraid

Of falling short of A-star accolade
Don't eat, don't sleep, travail your skin to pale
The only thing that matters is your grade

Boris Johnson nominates
the President of the United States

He says the Nobel Prize for Peace
should go to Donald Trump

But that joker has been played before
No satire in it any more

Irony died, doesn't he see?
when Kissinger won it in seventy-three

This poem was published on Poetry24 on 11 May 2018.