Last Night Of The Proms

Rule Britannia, triumphant voices sing,
Praising the achievements of our long lost kings,
Remembering the empire, the Union Flag unfurled,
Casting a dark shadow, over all the world.
Murdering and slavery, forgotten in their joy,
Fingers clutching plastic flags, like a small child's toy.
Podgy fingers, plastic sticks,
What a bunch of pompous pricks!
The singing ends, they feel so right,
and turn to walk into the night.
Major Findlay Ponsbye-Smythe leaves the concert hall,
Breathes a bleary gin-soaked cry, "Tally ho to all."
With bloodshot eyes and cheeks of jelly,
Ignores a beggar, clutching belly.
In his warm bed, oh so late,
He softly whispers, "Britain's Great!"

 

This poem is dedicated to all who have suffered oppression or gone hungry in a so-called classless society.