In memoriam.

–

I want to hear about the work you do

The charities to which you give your time

I want to hear your speeches.

I want to see you, holding your kids’ hands

Say, “That’s Jo Cox. You must have heard of her

A brilliant MP.”

I wish I’d heard of you before the day

Your name became so famous, suddenly.

We should have heard of you.

But politicians make their name with hate:

Either the hate they stir up in their speeches 

Or hate stirred up against them.

I wish I’d known you in the present tense 

I wish you had been famous for your life

And not the way you died.

God knows where this sprang from.

Tony remembers 1997

When everyone loved him and he was in heaven

Tony remembers 1998

When a lot of the left would still call him a mate.

Tony remembers 1999

When his ratings were high it was still going fine

Tony remembers the year Y2K

When everything seemed to be going his way.

Tony remembers 2001

The first part of which was still pretty good fun.

Tony remembers 2002

And his powerful friends  who told him what to do

Tony remembers 2003

And the millions who marched whom he chose not to see

Tony remembers how once he was whole

And fingers the gold that he got for his soul.

Lagging behind on my poem quota at the moment, but the world is a sad place right now.
This is all I’ve got to say about Jo Cox’s killer, so far.
You’re a quiet loner,

So am I.
You’re mentally ill,

Me too.
We’re both so alike

So why
Am I not at all

Like you?

The common Nigel, or Farage
Goes down the Thames upon a barge

You see the reason why, it’s true:

To keep us out of the EU.

what this unobservant twat

 May not have thought much of, is that

 If he says “leave”, our course is plain:

The only thing is to remain.

You can say what you like

And we don’t have to like you

And somehow the world

Goes on turning despite you.

But whatever you think

And whatever you preach

This is not about you

Or your freedom of speech.

It’s not about you

And you didn’t get shot

And it “could just as easily be”

But it’s not.

And they weren’t “only people

Who wanted to dance”

And it wasn’t a club

That was chosen by chance.

It was not an attack

Upon you or your culture

You tone-deaf, insensitive 

Cold hearted vulture.

Did you hate what you saw of yourself in them?
What you hate and consider as damned?
Do you know what you did was haram?
That it wasn’t Islam?
That it’s not just yourself that you harmed,

Though it’s only yourself you condemned?

Thanks a bunch, Hans.

_________
When you noticed some boys who seemed not to make friends
The clumsy, the awkward, the oddly intense,

You saw how they seemed to have trouble with dealing

With what other people around them were feeling 

You noted it down, as they’d ramble for hours

About aeroplanes, numbers or names of rare flowers.

And this little group, which you thought was all male

In all social settings you’ve set up to fail.

This condition should never be thought of with shame

But you didn’t help much when you gave it your name.

Because when you’re at school and you do not fit in

And you can’t stand the smells and the lights and the din

And the things that you say get you bullied and mocked 

It doesn’t help much (and I know you’ll shocked)

When you tell your tormentors”I’m only this way

Cause I’ve got a condition, a gift you might say”

And when they stop punching and ask what the word is,

You say “Well you see, what I’ve got is

ASS BURGERS.”

You’re far from my ideal candidate

But not because you’re “hawkish” or a “frump”.

And those who say you’re just as bad as Trump

Are utilizing politics of hate.

Your record leads a lot to be desired

When we consider that illegal war

Your stance on sex workers I can’t ignore

But all the smears about you make me tired.

It isn’t very easy to decide 

If you would be a president of stature

Or just another bloody Maggie Thatcher

When everything I read about you’s snide.

If you beat Trump, I’ll celebrate and gloat

But I am kind of glad I cannot vote.

An unforgivably cheap shot at our glorious leader.

_________

You have a very shiny face

But that itself is no disgrace.

You have such beady little eyes

But that is nothing to despise.

There’s something fake about your hair

But mocking that is hardly fair.

The problem is, you slimy crook,

You’re just as awful as you look.

As you begin your final fast

And turn your face toward the sky

Free of this planet’s pain at last,

Salaam aleikum, and goodbye.