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Like lambs to the slaughter
they stumble on, signs aloft,
believing they can cause
change to the valleys,
to the fields, the beaches,
the cities, the flack chuckers.
But the flack chuckers laugh
inwardly like demented demons,
for they have found bliss
with gold flecked bath bombs,
and dosh stuffed mattresses,
Lamborghinis and Mayfair pads.
In truth there is shit
At both ends of the rainbow,
just more at one grimy end
than the other sparkly one.
But both ends have shit
of one kind or another
nonetheless.


© Allen Ansell 2023