In July 2023
Cerberus
hellhound
Breathed on Europe,
With one of
his three heads,
Burning green trees to ash,
Turning fertile
soil to dust.
But in smug Brexit
Britain smug Brexit Brits
were smug
Sitting staring out to sea
From urine perfumed promenade shelters
Trying to discern
A horizon between grey and grey
And thinking about fish and chips,
As squalls blew in.
But don’t let Cerberus
Get a whiff of that,
Or he will lift all three of his heads.
And he will
One day.
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