HISTORY IS A WORD BANGLE

We are living in the death throws of Neo-Liberalism.
Austerity has been hitting the UK hard now for nearly ten years. I wonder as to the point of it? It is not as if the country were more solvent than it had been, it is not. The NHS is being slowly starved of funds and opened up to asset stripping vultures in the name of choice. The examples of Tory-misrule are all around us.
Today I read that 15,000 scientists in 184 different countries have signed a Warning to Humanity. We have to change our ways or face extinction.

 The poem this post is about how history is everywhere, ubiquitous yet ignored.
England's Glory was a brand of matches when I was a child. I've actually just done a search and discovered they still exist!

England's Glory

Clock back Sunday morning,

it could be bin day, but it's not,

Mafeking Terrace in the rain,

the silvered pavement a foxed mirror.

Walk down Sabastapol

across Inkerman.

Flashcards for past lives

and history is a word bangle

these streets wear blind.

There was a second stanza but it didn't add anything to the whole.
Here's the first few lines.

The recruiting drum is silent,

the yellowed skin hangs slack,

we no longer follow the flag my boys.

We are individuals isolated by our differences

The danger for me is that I can become determined to make it work then you have to cut your losses.
I have been listening to some old African pop music this last couple of days including an old lp by Devera Ngwena Jazz band. After my depressing post here's something to dance to.

Until next time.