BOMBSHELLS

BOMBSHELLS

Today I was going to write about something

Else, but the anger was sparked again,

So, forgive me. Avoiding the news last night,

One line spiked me when I had run out

Of excuses, to check. BJ himself, there to both

Unnerve and to nudge us, away from and yet

Really into confusion, which is clearly the only

Thing he does best. Apparently it is time to move

On, from affront, and back to the task at hand

The blonde Bombshell tell us – after only a day –

Lest our anger start to upend his fouled scale.

As the future’s fading balance is sought,

He demands that we redirect our attention

Away from the outside concerns he endangers

And which if enabled will rush to ensure

All hope fails. After demanding he speak,

BJ must now defend the blown bounty,

For as Cummings came he sat spunkless,

Pleasing no-one at all with his spray.

Maybe not even himself, as for Westminster

DC, the conference was later described

As a torture; a painful process, as pleasure

Is so different for those who betray. I knew

Someone like this as a boy; a strange underdog

And his owner, a loutish lad and a bully,

Protecting the mind that in truth and twain

Saved and dared. The two became like a schooled

Frankenstein, as the strong and the sly fused

Together, with the meeker one far more

Vicious and bearing the same hunted stare

That we saw on Tuesday, along with a familiar

Look of aggrievance. Tight lipped, teeth

Pushed forward as if preparing to bite

As he glared. But after the spectrum

And sparkle of sun he slides once more

Between shadow, calling on the Boris bulk

Now to shield him, and to bear the brunt,

Too for the c---. No, I won’t say it. I can’t.

But you can see what I have done there

With those letters. For words can be

Weapons, even the things unsaid. These

Affront. So, we seek apologies still.

Admissions, too. Explanations.

Along with Confessions; if they were more

Freely released we’d be cured. It would be out

There; the truths that these two excretions

Keep wiping, as their smear and soil the real

Questions that continue to infect each plagued

Door. As the disease is seen to lessen we’ll see,

Another Virus emerging. As the coughs are boxed

And the fevers become the stuff of summered

Sweat, dust will rise. It will come from the full

Explosion of sense as the monsters move

Through the mire, painting for us a blurred

Landscape, that while sketching in Sun,

Mists all eyes. Our reality will soon fade,

Just as it does on Zoom backgrounds.

Have you seen them? Because if you move,

Just a fraction the picture behind makes

You ghost. Just as we are to them, regardless

Of whether we’re living. They’ll blow the smoke

From hearts burning, for as the bread runs out,

We’ll be toast. This was a close call for them.

They’ll be baking furiously now, crusts

And covers. And as the bombshell bursts,

We’ll be shrapnel as they shatter all we hold close.

I suppose it’s a war, with four more years

Stretched before it. In which, as with all wars,

The generals will continue to protect themselves

In the Mess. While we live it, and learn how

Much we need true resistance, not against those

Ranked against us, but against those directly

Above, rich and blessed. Comedians will make

Jokes as a simple way to deal with it. But few

Today find the funny, because the funny

Remains bittersweet. Or, possibly just bitter

Today as we start to bite down on the bullet.

In each mouth, an explosion and the taste

Of hate and steel. Spit defeat. For tomorrow,

We’ll blow, and very possibly swallow. As they

Cum across us the fuck they seek can’t complete.

David Erdos May 28th 2020

For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection 

David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.

David Erdos

©    David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.