SPECIAL FEATURE Poem of the Week
We do love a crisis. These fortunate days,
These praise-singing days,
The plentiful hours
When corpsemeat’s there to be had.
These desperate times
When all decorum disappears,
And grown men are so mad with fear
They’ll point the finger anywhere,
And save for us the streets are bare.
Bright, and strangely clean,
No live unfathomable mess
Of human beings –
Just us – as usual,
We’re dressed to the nines.
Scarce ever caught in the same skin twice,
Season to season, changing our stripes –
Hark, the return of primordial days!
The great rewilding – long epoch of peace!
Spread the word! – For we must purge disease.
You’ll find that natural law agrees –
We scavengers-in-chief shall weigh
Whose life is for the reaping.
We hunger – and for blood we sing –
Who wants to die for a wished-for spring?
– No rush – we’ll cull your stragglers
In time. But for the passing hour –
Aren’t we dear, aren’t we sweet,
As we swagger down your street?
Illustration © Helen Geddes