TOAD IN THE HOLE

TOAD IN THE HOLE

A wart on the face can only be expunged

With a laser, but even then the scar lingers

And still the surface smear sees cure fail.

And so, it is with Farage, the French sounding

Frog or toad in our hole, now our very own

English Carbuncle, with his leering eyes a threat

To all nieces, as he lustily pumps staling ale.

Farage fools no-one. It’s the only hope

I can cling to. Apart from those so deluded

And racist that they would gather in robes

Round the bog and defile mystic men with

Their clear misunderstanding of magic.

These Morris Prancers, if they exist at all

Remain dogs chasing their own rears

And tails for an equally mythic England,

Which is unconnected to folklore and legend

And the beauty behind sacred stones.

All people like this can do is throw, or cast

Spite as Farage has done at protestors, calling

Them Terrorists on Good Morning Britain,

For Estate Agenting Edward Colston's river home.

There, in those words, we saw another skin

Shed under darkness. As Colston's cold face

Kissed the Avon, we saw in Nigel's false fed fury

And his blatancy, exposed hate, that he has for not

Only all immigrants, but for all minorities also,

Be they black, disempowered or those battered

Back into life by a banner that seeks to forego 

Our dark fates. The English honour all oafs.

They even welcomed Oswald Moseley back

Onto talkshows. We think, I believe, we can 

House them, miscast as there are in false shows.

But we do not know what they are. Only the how

Comes to claim us. The why barely features,

Was Farage in his childhood beaten or bred

To spark race? We don't know. He just pretends

To speak sense, the bore in the bar, we'd part

Smile at, attacking when drunk his opinions,

But allowing him still pride of place. Just like 

That wart you can't lease, until you smother it 

With cream, nuke, or cut it, while endangering

As you do so the former symmetry of the face.

We see each ignorance fed and latterly at least,

We decry them. But we do not remove them

Because their hold on us squats on hearts.

They silenced Farage on TV, but he was still allowed

His expression. Where are the points in which

Power must be finally prised apart? As Minneapolis

Calls for control and Trump tweets to hellhound

Individuals, when, as we tire, will we seek

To truly overturn all we've seen. For we are now

The toads in the hole as much as this frog

On the throat, primed for bulging; through

The bile in his bullsac, bilge rises, as beer

Poisons bubble and the swamp in his mind

Stains all green. Whenever this reptile

Reappears the water and way seem

Corrupted. His yokel laugh seems affected

As if he were an auditioning perhaps

For Panto, on some tawdry stage, but with

His slimed eye trained on the failing West End

Of Westminster, in which the other hams

And poor players prod, pull and wrench us

As we remain unsure where to go.

But these pond scum know all too well.

They are raising Colston now from the water.

The muck that clings is the mire that would drag

Each sacred slave deep below. Farage is a race

On his own: the Underfrogs, we might call them.

Listen as they warp the water. With each word,

Sound finds vomit. And yet still they're speaking.

Across De-Angeled days Devils blow.

David Erdos June 10th 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.