whack a cliff
with a toffee hammer
for long enough
and a tiny fragment
might fall off
and whack it again
and again and again
until your hands
go numb with pain
but all you’ll get
in return for your aches
is just enough rock
to make a rock cake
and the cliff will
still stand
while you nurse
your crippled hand
which you’ve worked
down to the bone
but that is if
you do it alone
but if every worker in the world
got off their arse
and they realised that
they belong to one class
and wielded toffee hammers
all at once
the cliff would crumble
into dust
and the seagulls
would wheel and scream
and make a fuss
saying “ you thoughtless
proles
have evicted us
from our cliff top homes”
the moral of this ode then clearly is
that seagulls are class enemies.
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