Naomi Foyle

Baiting the Barbarians

Up and at ‘em!  Rise and quit whining!

Today’s the day we fight to the death

to defend the right of our new BNP MP

to discuss ‘the British genotype’, immigration,

and the evidence for the Holocaust

up at leafy Sussex Uni.

Look sharp.  No sickies this morning.

You, the chap from The Guardian,

forget your chinos.  Grab a tub of woad,

smear it all over — don’t forget your bollocks.

Nice!  Now drink this triple espresso:

if the berserker can’t go to Rome ...

And you, the famous British-Muslim philosopher of science,

here’s a gáe bolga: practice your stance.

The seven barbs spring open on contact,

so remember, don’t touch the tip!

It’s an honour to die by this weapon - aim

for the Vice-Chancellor, or Head Librarian at least.

The lesbian art critic and eco-feminist activist

can commandeer the chariot:

one whip-smart woman to take a crack at the reins;

the other to crouch on the yoke, swinging a double-edged sword.

It’s easy when you get the hang of it.

Just don’t fret about the horse.

Remember, the university will have a ton of books.

Ivory’s illegal now, so they’ll hurl them

from a Tower of Babel.  Some 2012 hopefuls might show up

with rifles, javelins, shot puts.  Watch out

for the shot puts.  Even if they miss your skull,

they can really crunch a number on your toes.

And of course the PM is aching to call in the army —

give the new tanks a good work-out,

warm up the troops for Tehran.

What? You’ve got a copy deadline tomorrow?

It’s your turn to look after your son?

The fascists can fight their own battles?

Yes, I dare say we can.

But it wouldn’t be half as much fun.

Naomi Foyle © 2011