Another day of hand-to-hand Tweeting.
An inch of rain falls. There is a new party.
I look through the window and at my screen.
The trees are whispering.
They are pillars of the community.
I learn from my local online forum
that someone foreign-looking
was seen recently, acting suspiciously.
And I am active in this debate.
You see, I have learned how to hate.
The new party is registered in Panama.
Its London address is Traitor’s Gate.
Its signature colour is grey.
That's an innovation. It's a bit boring
but the other colours were taken
from the spectrum of revolution.
Soon, grey people with grey banners
will march down the grey streets
and other people will shout at them
to feed the Instagram rebellion.
It's time to consult my Twitter feed
to top up its cauldron of recrimination
as comrade denounces comrade.
A witches’ brew of pop up analysis
is all over the airwaves.
And now, the latest grey news.
This feeding frenzy will go on for hours.
Later, Dinner Date and Love Island.
The heretic does not repent her sins, my lord.
Humphreys: burn her, burn her, burn her!
No comments:
Post a Comment