at the dry cleaners, woollen war suits of sick men and women
hang in cellophane. from boardrooms the share price
of a bomb soars, and croissant flakes fall like dead skin
on plush carpets. laughter is heard from a Wall Street asylum.
in England politicians dance on ice, host radio shows,
and at Westbourne Terrace an inquiry is whitewashed;
barristers of the crown slopping to work with cans of paint.
while down in the voting booth we, fools, back sick horses
eat shit and watch the dumb race on Sky News.

in our sleep, we hand them the power to kill children.
in our sleep, we gift them the money to kill children.
in our sleep, we pass them the gun to kill children.

on a Newmarket racecourse, childless fathers and mothers
lie trampled with broken necks. vultures fly in from Brussels.

Eugene O'Hare's plays are published by Bloomsbury/Methuen. He was recently shortlisted by Billy Collins for the Fish Poetry Prize. New poems appear in Causeway, Cyphers, Stand and more. He lives in London. Read other articles by Eugene.