The horse-faced ho looked out
Surveyed her new lands
Held her husband's hand
And declared
That the wages of sometime-
Declared sin
Were quite alright really:
Castles and palaces
Deferent lads and lasses
Forelocks tugged
And colonies inspected
The gin all iced
And company vetted
The banquets lavish
And the parties extended.
It is a wonder that when
Pulling herself up
That she didn't trip on
All the bones and skulls
Of discarded and denied
Broken backed
Slaves that the empire
Was built on.
However I suppose
When to the manor-born
The suffering becomes
So much background
Noise
To dismiss the unpaid
And enslaved
"Help" is no more to
Those at the
Top of this pyramid scheme
Than to brush away
A lingering irritant
And draw up a new
Oppressive white
Wet dream.
Her gormless husband
Danced on his mother's
Grave.
A small jig called
"Finally My turn!"
Along with a proper
Reprise of
"Ashes in the urn".
And all the little people
Who have been brainwashed
White washed
Controlled and deceived
Convinced themselves
That it was only proper
To bend themselves
Double at the knee
Whilst wailing and mourning
The old age unforming
And attaching unearnt
Significance to a
Royal fantasy tampon's
Sometime recipient.
