THIS ISN'T FUCKING MASTERMIND

On the urban fringe where dog turds hang in plastic
And witches' knickers leave tide wrack

Where the leaves should be
The trees aren't green
They're know what's going on, sunshine 

This isn't fucking mastermind 

Write a poem. Get a job
Toil in pain like Petrarch
Pen pentameters in Primark

You’ve made your bed
You’d better lie to yourself

If it doesn’t rhyme, it’s no good

This isn't fucking mastermind 

Footfall from the shopping mall

Crafts desire paths in the park

Naked and illuminated  

The assistant referee seeks confirmation

From the video of his ex-best friend

This isn't fucking mastermind

Sexualise the tender

Infantilise the elderly
Revoke their right to folly
Pressurize the lonely
Into surrender of their solitude
Auction care to the bottom line 

This isn't fucking mastermind

Despite the mythical youthquake  

Nurdles from the new Aldi form 

on the dark side of the moonscape

Now that Mr Spock’s masculinity is toxic 

Fast fashion picks at the fabric of ecology

With no apology to God or logic

This isn't fucking mastermind 

There’s hell to pay in purgatory,
but the rich get in tax free  

It’s started now, best you finish it.

This isn't fucking mastermind