Jutting chin and jaunty cap and posh Swiss overcoat, Finger stabbing the air to rights, He licked his Tartar lips and stroked His beard, nodding sharply At each injustice he would cure, Clipped decisive words in steam-train language Knit the crowd into carded fabric Any pattern could be printed on. He had waited long for such deep cheers And smoky mosaic of faces, Dimmed his eyes to just the right amount Of inability to see the future, When the mob would do such deeds As burned all sensibility to ash: ‘Oh boy, we did that fucking castle in! Splintered every lintel, broke every brick. Those Old Masters burned a treat. Forty years ago the duke raped my mother So I plugged his duchess-daughter. For the Revolution, of course – We should have one every day!’ The shock-detachment of the Revolution came Behind a glistening array of guns: ‘All right, chaps, fun’s over. You work for us now, what? So build that castle up again. And who was that swine raped the duchess? His trial starts tomorrow.’ ‘The purity of Revolution shines Bright for all to see, A moral force that cleanses Cleaner than the sea.’ ‘You’ll be sorry you spoke,’ Comrade Lucifer retorted When everything got out of hand.
