Down the escalator from the keening and yearning of pre-teen spirit
Back into the banality of Mum and Dad; but this was to be no Happy Monday
Panic among pink balloons, ‘surreal’ and ‘bizarre’ said the ones who got away
Early enough not to know of the Manc who flicked the switch and made himself an It.
Not wishing to speak his name lest I nominate a martyr for that cause with no merit,
And all must know he’s worth less than that; but It’ll live another day
If treated as ineffable. There’s more strange fruit to inherit
Unless the bastard us in him – his nihilism, we address, and first, admit.