Poem: An Obituary for Maggie Thatcher
Death comes. It has a singular certainty for us
all – who come shuddering and shaking into the world. The only leveler.
Labour MP Tom Watson says, ‘I hope that people on the left
respect a family in grief today’.
We wonder why Tom speaks so,
Labour abandoned the left long ago.
And former Tory MP Louise Mensch decries: ‘Pygmies of the left
A stiff upper lip is required,
Death is nothing without propriety.
David Cameron praises you as a ‘patriot’ describes
your ‘lion-hearted love’ for Britain
a wee mouse, squeaking under your iron paw.
Cameron has divided and dismantled the National Health System,
an elderly woman made to drink the stale vase water of fading chrysanthemums.
President Barack Obama says ‘ the world has lost
one of the great champions of
freedom and liberty’
Nelson Mandela may not have agreed.
But freedom after all, has come to mean the economic fallacy
of access to the market. After you lady, only dreams
an obituary should
be prim and proper as a double strand of pearls.
Or, strive to speak the truth about a life who has born
generations of scorn and me-first-ism.
And I, a grown child of the colonies
Inherit irreverently, British comedy and Shakespeare’s tasteless habit
of speaking ill of the deceased,
especially those we should honour for their wielding of ill-gotten power
You were a studious child
from Grantham who liked, reading and poetry. I wish you’d stayed a poet
become the thin-lipped friend of tyrants.
You did not believe in society. Your pristine white gloves
waved farewell to public assets and trade unions.
Section 28 would invent a “pretended family relationship”.
To be fair;
Billy Elliot the miner’s son is not a miner.
But through you, the miners and their other sons are not miners either.
Thatcherism carried on a chill wind,
seeded noxious neoliberal blooms.
I would leave convolvulus and sticky weed on your grave. The only reveler,