by Nick Gisburne
With knives, with needles, teeth and tusks, they come,
And we, the Guard, the grand police of state,
Prepare the flesh with armour, rockets, rum.
For havoc, for the holocaust, we wait.
On every branch and root, on every tree,
Mechanics hurl a pale, corrosive grease.
Whatever gods these beasts pretend to be,
One touch, one taste, will strip their skins of peace.
Deceptive ramparts, granite, stone, and steel,
Conceal a thousand seams of shock and pain.
Unfettered guns display the Starlight Seal
Of Saturn and the Colonies of Spain.
As ready as our minds could ever be,
We tremble at the scale of what we see.
