Whineheard #1
(after Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin)
When all of this is over, said the Brexiteer,
I plan to retire, somewhere
Warm perhaps, like the south of France, pick grapes
And have conversations about the weather - in English.
I'll continue to brew tea of course: the engine of the Empire,
But never in an IKEA kitchen, whose units
have names like Billy, Flärdfull and Gronkulla.
I want to lie awake at night
Listening to flags crawling to the top of flagpoles
For we are all islands; float-valves in the cistern.
I want to see polytunnels of home-grown bananas with bended curves
As yellow stars march back down to earth from naval-blue skies,
In the English-rose-tinted-summer of my youth
And the apple-blossom buds as snowflakes frozen on the bough.
Whineheard #2
(after Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin)
When all of this is over, said the remoaner,
I mean to hide away, in my
bunker at the bottom of the garden and weather the apocalypse.
Ocado-stocked with tins of lentils, beans and dried fruits.
I will continue to brew coffee, Fairtrade from Waitrose
As I percolate my liberal-elite thoughts
And polish my Bialetti Moka Express every day.
I want to fall asleep at night
Dreaming of freedom with swarms of Romans, Vikings and Huguenots
Breaking through waters in wind-rushed boats.
I want to live in a world that has erased all bold, black lines
And there are only bridges across meandering rivers,
When yellow stars go dark next spring
And the olive branch withers in a scorched wilderness.
Suzanne Fairless-Aitken
