George’s Bright Colours

George’s Bright Colours

You tended them too well,
Your foreign fruit.
Your languid, shackled oranges,
Where no such smell of liberty
Relieved their souring stench.
Two faced, one-eyed fuckwit.
Couldn’t see or wouldn’t,
How your tin-topped ambassadors,
That painted Stars and Stripes,
On that scorched Republic,
Made the Promised Land ignite.
The Peninsula of sand,
By your petroleum command.
Turned from red and blue to black.
Ripped apart your own Jihad.

Amy Anderson