Rejoice, rejoice

For Mrs T on the day of her funeral with nods to Auden and Shakespeare

She was my South,

my Basildon and Essex.

She was my white van week, my sunday screws

my house, my pub, my dosh, my booze.

I thought that love would last for ever

climbing to heaven on the never never.



But she bet the country on the banks

in the end- just tissue and porny wanks.

Stop, stop all the clocks

let the mourners come

where full fathom five the Belgrano lies

and Matias,Lucas,Ignacio hourly ring her knell.



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