I am the gypsy in the company of Nazis

I am the black slave The Empire kept under its bowler hat

I am the immigrant Albion gave the thumbs down to

The one the beer-bellied disciple would deny

The one the true blue dyed-in-the-wool cannot stomach

The one the ‘old’ rich and their host of rattled barbarian retainers despise

It matters not

By choice or by circumstance my days are numbered

After all the stateless one who has no future cares not a jot

If he dies by the blade, the poisoned pill or in the arms of a lover

Gone the flag of amorous stars

Back the plain Jane triplets

George, Andrew and David

The banner of Christianity astray

No more Oswald’s blackshirts

Unavailable in Primark

Unavailable in pink

Boneheads and loud voices

The order of the day

The compass without a pointer an immoral public servant’s treasure