THE SONG OF ADAM

The speckled satanic
Bird uses ferrous wings
To turn in the sky,
Almost full of grace

It shines a light
On the workers -

Six foot Adam
Rises from his fog, his
Immense steel boots
Flicking their sparks.
And fiery fists
Signal in the fog-mist
He's working, moulding
Their new alloy.

At the mill his feet pace
Quick towards his destruction,
While colleagues wield
Steam jackhammers
To create pollution

And the sun sinks down
Unnoticed and alone
In its vat of chemicals

*

At lunchtime sun-blonde
Adam swings on a wall,
Ignoring armies of words.
(His colleagues pick over their
Daily carcass called The Star)

...But he knows his fate -
The second he retires,
He will hand over hat,
Donkey jacket, boots
Hang his glove on a bottle

And unscrew his patented
Polymer hands, and lie
In the dust to avoid
The Conscription.

THE EMPEROR v.2

No longer cheeky
Or feeling bombastic
About knickers, hat-pins
And one inch elastic

An apprentice tailor
(Whose memory was blank)
Surfaced with a sore head
In France

Sole resident of a gutter,
Wishing he could deliver oath
Or mutter in a secret pleat
About the concertina stitch...

This naked servant to the rich,
Resident in a wealthy quarter,
Stared hard in a glass
To discover his face
Besmeared with rouge

Whose?
He scratched his head
Tried to remember that kiss;
But then standing too quick
Slipped on hidden dog shit

With only a xxxx to hide behind
No posy or fig leaf in sight
He ran naked home, a blur of white.