When the president’s Helicopters fly over & IN LENINGRAD

When the president’s Helicopters fly over

When the Ruler of the World comes to London
And his iron chariots thunder, up in the red night skies
He slices his air with the rotors
And my semi detached residence
Trembles volelike beneath.

I don’t respect him,
I didn’t elect him,
I don’t want him,
And I didn’t invite him.

But when a convoy of Chinooks and
Other associated night-riding heli-hags
Slice across ordinary north London suburban air
I’m down with the people in Dollis Hill,
Shaking in my boots,
Whether I want to or not
And a splash of coffee leaps from my cup
With what could be shock
Or be awe.
My beverage may wish to grovel on the floor,
But I do not.

IN LENINGRAD

In Leningrad
A diabetic pensioner dies.
He once was a teacher,
But now cannot pay,
Enough to keep
His killer at bay.

The prices of his medicines have flown
Higher and higher
Away beyond his reach.
like migrant swans,
they’ve  gone well south
Down to warmer lands
Where the fat boys play on the beach all day
And where their parents pay and pay
For pizzas, burgers, fries and fizzy drinks
And metformin and insulin.

All of which are beyond the scope
of a Soviet teacher’s pension
So I hope
That there’s a workers' state up in the sky
Since the one on the earth couldn’t cope.