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poets on strike ( ekirts no steop )

…

quell the feathered quills
sleeping now like arthur

toss aside your vellum
put down your thesaurus

the book of synonyms
untie all cravattes

lob the trusty ink well
as if a molotov

in the rubbish bin
outside the town hall

mindful of section five
on the picket line

with all the marxist bards
who’d like to buy a house

before the revolution
as then we’d all own nada

we, the fuming few
the ginger lovechildren

of music & prose
with vestigal toes

we, the unsung glue
blue plaques of the future

who kiss the ruddy cheeks
of miscellany’s anus

chanting – give us freebies
cash & online likes

poets on strike
so write your own shite

…