It was perfect. Sweet, moist and refreshing. Straight from the tree. The most perfect fig I’ve ever eaten. I am thrilled.
To eat and enjoy the fruit, literally, of one’s labour is so satisfying. I saw the fig almost by accident and noticed it was no longer green. I touched it and there was a softness. I worried that it was over ripe, but no it was perfection.
They arrive each year, by first class
OR in their private jetsSometimes, hundreds of the family
Come to shop in Kensington
Staying in their otherwise empty
Apartments.
Londoners are priced
Out of their own home city
Dictators and despotic sheikhs
Kings of absolute monarchies
Descend upon the annual arms fair
The weapons and armory that
Control nations and crush dissent
The tools of war, which fuel more conflict
Are here to be bought, adored objects of lust
The Grim Reaper attends too, many of him
Gate crashing their sumptuous banquets
As guests of Her Majesty’s Government
Civil disobedience at it’s best, they spread
Information about child deaths, orphans of war
The maimed, the displaced, the refugees
In cloak and hoods, with scythes of truth
During the day, these folk with conscience
Will have laid in the street to block limousines
Or to stop the arrival of an armored tank for sale
They chain themselves together, and then
To a railing or lamp post. The police must
Remove them and this takes some time
Meanwhile, the public look on and learn
Some of these civil protestors are seen in court
Though none yet have been thrown in jail
As some of the weapons on sale for death
Are illegal, banned, or used for torture
Despite this being a fact, no one of the British
Government has been held to account
Strange injustice so great, blood on their hands
Published at Dissident Voice a long time ago.
Writer and psychologist. My health, a journey with two life shortening diseases 