Ceremony
I spent ten days tugging at my forelock
till at last the whole damn wig fell off
and hit the bloodstained Holyrood floor.
Sport for the corgis. I stood there quite bald.
Everyone is watching. Heed my warning!
No half-hearted tears or lacklustre mourning.
Keep your mouth shut. Cultivate amnesia.
Chuck out the swan that's stashed in your freezer.
Naysayers will be found and rounded up,
recant their heresy or be "turned off".
Choose mass hysteria, this fever dream,
or join the queue for the new guillotine.
B.R. 20.09.2022
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