“Plastic flowers, plastic treeses,
fan-assisted, cooling breezes;
all the snow is cotton wool
with chunks of ice to keep it cool.
Olé!”

Walking about his planet
(with his dog)
carrying out his inspections,
looking at his reflections,
blaming the mirrors,
talking an endless monologue,
strides Homo Sapiens.
(non sapiens, non rationalis
sed capax rationis fortasse).

A small man
(think of a dinosaur),
with big ideas
(think of genocide),
damp and wormy.

He will worship a black stone
in Saudi Arabia,
seven figure numbers on the Stock Exchange,
wafers and wine in Canterbury Cathedral
and the memory of Elvis Presley.
Heartbreak Hotel.

He climbs a mountain to say he has done it,
rows the Pacific in preference to the Serpentine,
makes a bat a protected species
and kills 26.78 million chickens in Pilgrim’s Pride.

God,
bless
him.
(please!)