The Fall of Brexitopolis: W.N. Herbert

This is the way the empire ends.
The proud nose shall be rubbed in its own hallucinatory piss.
The pony shall be rent in the temple
and the chlorinated dollar carried into the place
of the Holy of Moliest.
Chickens shall speak in tongues in the seats of power
while their teeth are treasured as charms against
the coming of plagues or nurses.
The roughly asleep shall be bayoneted where they lie
to save on bullets for the flat of foot.
Like the tides there shall be an amnesty on bodkins,
and then a redistribution.
Where there is plenty we shall restore rationing.
Where there is home we shall bring deportation.
Johnny shall be as a foreigner whether
he remembers me or not.
The bee shall be placed on trial for the pollution of bonuses.
The ear of corn shall be deafened,
the eye of the needle quite put out.
The sick shall queue to die, their trolleys
nose to tail on the orbital motorways.
The Old Preventibles,
cholera, the pox, rickets, tuberculosis,
shall be released from the laboratories:
collect them all now.
The articulated lorry shall not rest in the ruined nave.
The chorister shall not be listened to with great care.
Also the pea shall be removed from the whistle
and taken to a secure jar.
The ornamental pond shall be filled with ornaments.
The antique shall be tat
and the masterpiece shall not be all that.
The arts shall be done better by my six year old.
Facts shall be the wrong sort, and statistics a poor show.
The Sciences shall be an absolute shower.
Vendors of gin and cupcakes shall take up residence
in the former libraries and shall style themselves
Artisans of Utopia.
The Unity of the Kingdom shall be preserved
by the biting of rum-soaked bullets, a satterlee saw,
and the tarring of stumps.
There shall be a general pickling in the provinces.
Barristers shall be mistaken for baristas,
barrators for orators.
Prejudice, citing precedent, shall be postjudice.
Righteousness shall be called on as a substitute
in the eighty-fifth minute.
The Golden Calves shall be set up in the Own Goals
while the referees are being hamstrung in the tunnels.
Trees shall be netted to defend them from birdsong.
Migratory geese shall be shooed from the Capitol.
Plastic shall be forced down the throats of swans
and, should they wash up on our shores, whalefish.
Nanny shall stockpile Zopiclone and Cyanide
for the coming of Naptime.
The last poet swinging from the last lamppost
shall switch off the final streetlight, whereupon
the Senate shall assassinate each other in order of eminence
till only those too incompetent to stab themselves shall remain.
The self-elected emperor shall then divest himself of his last invisible cloak
and, casting it ahead of him into the absence of a fray,
shall lose himself where the lack of fighting is thickest.

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