Lazy Saturday, in the quilt I hide.
It sounds like rain outside,
But it’s the sound of wind on bunting,
The Union Jacks flap patriotism of a nation fronting.
Kidding itself that all is grand
In Britain where “Great” names the land.
A weekend for celebrating the Royals
Yet under the praise, what of the spoils.
You want me to wave a flag,
Sing joyfully and forget the bad?
Perhaps you think I should look forward
Instead of back. For me, I look towards
The damage in legacies sowed.
The ones that deny people to grow.
See it’s hypocrisy
That spoils the day for me.
Don’t think so?
Ask the people of the Chagos Archipelago.
Stand under your red, white and blue and cheer
As justice is denied to Kenyan women who feared
Rape from British soldiers represented on parade,
The same uniforms that were displayed
In a Royal wedding in Westminster Abbey.
Check Anglican military memorabilia and ask me,
No, ask Jesus, if His words of peace
Would integrate armies in Faith and belief.
This same church in God’s name, in waves
Took Africans and forced them to be slaves.
The Codrington plantation owned by the C of E
Branded black chests with the word “Society”.
The smell of burning flesh and skin.
A church not questioned for its evil sins.
And who atop it’s head… the Queen
With the money to reparate for crimes seen.
This poem is the tip of the bunting triangle.
It’s base spreads wide and is tangled
In the structures that define our world today.
The suffering and inequalities of wealth play
Out as resources are stolen still from lands…
Think of that when you listen to army bands
Pomping and pimping to the National Anthem.
A nation that lives for us, and kills “them”.