Poetry Corner

What’s for dinner today?

There are foodless holes
on my regular strolls
around supermarket shelves,
the wheels on my trolley
having come off, and the folly
is we did it to ourselves.

We looked back rosily at war,
at Normandy and Agincourt
and opted for more strife.
Now the irony is endless;
we sit here friendless
as driverless lorries jack-knife.

Having followed our orders,
Polish drivers crossed borders
and are happily staying away.
The signs for Project Fear
are all up and point to here.
So what's for dinner today?

Harry Gallagher

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