Breadcrumb #443

ALICE RIDDELL

We are off,
Ta ra, ta ra
And cheerio,
Good riddance and tickateedoo.

But I feel no cheer
As we turn our backs
On the bakers dozen double
To become Isles of isolation

As we march away in proud defiance
We cause an electric blackout
From mass kettles frantically boiling
To pour tea,
Into self-inflicted wounds.

It’s even changed my tongue
Brexicon has come!
Invading minds and countries
The Empire lives on!

They said it could be hard or soft,
Red, white, blue,
A cherry picked cake to have and to eat   
There is so much texture and colour to how I feel
Granite grievances and alizarin anxieties.

All those gold stars
Dancing circles on a blue square
But we are without partners
In a waltz that has no union

England recedes into itself
As the Tudor rose wilts
I think about my broken country,
As I burn my fingers on blackened crumpets.

I look down and feel my toes slip
A whole country crumbles down some white cliffs
And into a channel that feels like an ocean.

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