Fossil

If dinosaurs had feathers

I’d have caged one as a pet

and lived like Fred Flintstone did

went out bowling every night

with an easy pal like Barney

downed some beers with the guys

eyed some saucy chicks

devoured some spicy dactyl wings

and stopped for a rack of raptor ribs

at a drive-through diner

to be greeted back at my cave

with slobber from my feathered friend

while a woman in a little black dress

who cleans up the feathers

and all the dinosaur shit

sets the table for my supper


(c) 2013 Slush Poet

I am not a protester

For Bradley Manning

I am not a Welshman, an American

or a Catholic. I don’t mind eating

burgers but I won’t wear dungarees.

I have no tattoos and I don’t hug

trees. I’ve one pair of Doc Martens

to my name but I never Occupy banks.

I carry credit cards not membership

cards. I don’t read the Morning Star.

When I march, I carry no placard,

it’s because I am late. I don’t go out

in perpetual search of wrongs to right.

I like it when the trains run on time.

I am not an apologist for terror,

or for WikiLeaks. I take issue with those

who assume the innocence of all Brits

abroad. I’ve no burning desire

to be martyred and feel no remorse

for that. I weigh my vote with care.

This is not an appeal for clemency,

for Amnesty. I’m not Private Manning’s

attorney, his guardian angel,

his mouthpiece, his stooge, or his mother.

But I want — no, I insist —

that a young man sent to a faraway land

in my name, shall be given no command

to befoul his own humanity or the dignity

of another; that the prosecution of our wars

shall be principled and our soldiers keen

of conscience; and if it be so,

then this alone: that justice prevail.

(c) 2013 Slush Poet