Owen Gallagher

The Parliamentary Blacksmiths

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if during their term in office
Ministers used their tongues like wands
to legislate that houses, schools and playgrounds be built;

banks redistribute wealth; debating clubs be formed
in every workplace; and we use remote controls
on TV sets to vote on Government proposals!

Instead, they sweat like blacksmiths at the anvil
attempt to hammer us into shape.

Crack Head

I never hesitated, as we exchanged fire,
to be the first to leap into the air
and race, foolhardily, across the Afghan sky

expecting others to follow.
I never thought I would fall out of the sky
on the heads of soldiers in my squad,

be a target for the Taliban. I thought
only of the sniper, who pinned us down,
watching the soles of my boots zigzagging

above and me staring down, his mouth filled
with so many bullets I was forced to reload.

‘Cuba Libre!’

Not wishing to undermine any achievements,
I want to peel back the posters of Che that promote
the worship of the individual, and recycle them
as writing-paper for children. T-shirts exploiting him
would be used as bed-linen for the homeless.

I want to graffito ‘Those who produce nothing
receive nothing!’ on the billboards, re-site the boards
outside the guarded mansions of Havana; storm
the State-controlled radio station, urge workers
to tear the masking tape from their mouths.

I want all State ministers to swim to the golden exiles
in Miami, while workers and prostitutes
dance salsa in the streets, and soldiers drink
‘Castro on the Rocks’ from the barrels of rifles.

Owen Gallagher © 2011

Rule, Britannia!

Yes. I can sing Rule, Britannia!,
stand shoulder to shoulder with Millwall supporters.
I am darker than our darkest kit
and can match racist tongues and fists.

Yes. I can sing Rule, Britannia!
I bleed when knifed at work by graffiti,
cry when my son is whipped
by words in the playground.

Yes. I can sing Rule, Britannia!,
stoke your bank account,
donate my blood and organs,
carry the flag into battle for you.

Yes. I can fight for Britannia,
watch poppies sprout from my chest.

Owen Gallagher © 2011