The blackbird runs it past us one more time
in this dull lull, this end of June's exhaust,
as toon-heads* change their tune, counting the cost,
and fish-men* chant their vile, chthonic rhyme.
The blackbird tells it like it is, accommodates
all local signatures in urban song;
though his wild-land brethren would wonder long
at his box of tricks, what it celebrates.
He carried a notion through until it flew
with its own wings to join the flapping clan;
through tragedies his generation rang,
though cats stalked and magpies sought their due.
Whoever listened gleaned his deep-set plan
and all the feathered futures that he sang.
............................
*toon-heads - the people who voted 'Leave' on bizarre whims and immediately wished they hadn't
*fish-men - the racists who imagine they are English but are really spawn of Cthulhu. (Well, if David Ike can see 'Reptoids' all over the place, I should be allowed my fish-men. ;)
