May your cuts keep cutting. After May the 39th.
May your child be 39th in their class.
May your healthcare be for profit.
May your wages stagnate.
May your soil be poisoned.
May your job move to Frankfurt
Or Puerto Real.
May your biopsy be delayed.
May you dream of lettuce in winter.
May your restaurant stink of Rothmans
May your beaches fly red flags
May their market rule your choices.
May the honey bees be hasbeens
And your rivers black and empty.
May the 39th child never catch her teacher’s eye.
May your Brexit be hard.
May your fruit be tinned.
May your taxes rise.
And your waiting list lengthen.
May your Nitrogen dioxidise
And your wheat be growing thin.
May your saboteurs return to crush you
May your newspaper be a comfort
May your graduates be trapped in debt.
May your waiter have spittle for your soup.
May your missiles be your potency.
And your surgery deregulated.
May your equity be negative.
May your friends be just like you.
May your pension be plundered.
May your aspirations be seen for what they are.
May you exhaust yourself in chasing them.
May you achieve the success you desire for others.
May you learn of the contempt in which you are held by those you admire.
May the 39th.
May be your last chance…