UFOs are in the skies.
I’ve seen their clean fuel glide,
know how to track them
with a programme I devised.
by an icy fireplace.
The
not sharing its secrets.
Once in
I ran from room to room
posting my anti-war post-its,
finding non-terrestrial officers.
My girl was not impressed
with my onscreen scrutiny,
my passion for passwords.
She went; they all went in the end.
It was a lonely mutiny
behind my closed, important door.
Lost my job. Winds blew cold
in the glow of alien energy.
The day they arrested me
I’d deleted 97 security files
No time to eat or shave, or smile
at absent friends. I told the truth
before they got a lawyer.
Always best to tell the truth.
Copper told me I’d probably get
6 months community service but
soft words turned to missiles:
Extradition. Terrorist.
My lawyer’s retaliatory strike:
Asperger’s. Suicide.
Most nights I dream I’m in prison,
running down unheated corridors
Kevin Anderson has become
a guy with tattoos bearing down on me.
Doors closing in my face.
Do visit the website below, read and decide. You can pass on a message of support and let your voice be heard. Go on, click on it, you know you want to...
No comments:
Post a Comment