Wednesday, 6 January 2010


I like my England
Preserved in brine,
Rolled in flour
And old headlines.
Park ordained
Green all year
With landing strips.
Drained of weather
And day and night,
With land and lake
Spread out just right.
Prone to laughter
Too close to call,
Too ironic for many
Who know fuck all.

I love my England,
Who does not judge;
There’s no one left
Sober enough.
With fleeting glimpse
And knowing look,
And proud of all
The losses took.
Don’t fear the reaper,
Or God above,
Fear the loss
Of England’s love.
And when you need us again
To bail your sorry arses out,
Just remember
To shout,
And be grateful, you…

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