and salted peanuts. Dai is oppressed.
Dreary Cleary and the sidekick, Ron,
are giving the world the works.
Lefties are the problem, says Cleary.
In schools, for sure. Marxists, the lot of them.
Hell yes, says Sidekick. Unions, hospitals.
Armed forces too, says Cleary.
They’ve got them there as well.
Across a grimy window, there spins
a sudden smudge, of oil or soot.
Just fleetingly Dai takes it for a butterfly,
imagining then a fine red admiral,
upon a hedge, yellow and effervescent with spring,
a view below falling to a river,
lighting the sheen of clear water
and a joy beyond rhetoric and the grey moment.
*The poem first appeared in Verse-Virtual, 2017
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