Twitching limply atop an Ulster lamppost

Like a hung man, legs kicking in spasm at the last seconds of life

Its bigoted purpose now spent and now abandoned to the elements

No longer recognisable as the flag of union, a rag, a disgrace

 

Its fate summarises the fall of a culture that once honoured it

A proud nation of proud men, of starched collars and stiff upper lip

Colonially pink maps on schoolroom walls bore testament to empire

An empire won and lost when the map turned from pink to red

Up and at ’em lads! For King and country! Hold the banner high!

Ypres and the Somme, regiments of the brave under one colour

The twitching curtains of multi-culture now fearful of the emblem

The emblem of abhorrence uncased by those not qualified to fly it

 

Patriotism, a narrow path parting pride from prejudice

Defined by a flag, one duplicitous fluttering cloth, a split personality

Now the badge of hooligan, xenophobe and pop diva

Courage now gone, bleached by sun, washed by rain…atop an Ulster lamp post

Popularity: 1% [?]

You are now an outsider

No longer part of the mechanism

Not needed, surplus to requirement, redundant

Your mind slowly blunting at the bottom of the bottom drawer of life

 

The eyes of others betray emotions of derision and contempt

Fearful that they may catch your disease

Keeping a distance and loathing your weakness and inability

A moment of pseudo sympathy and they’re gone, you’re of no further use to them

 

Someone’s mild disagreement is an undeniable confirmation of your failure

That affirmation is everywhere; you just never saw it before now

Self-confidence is eroded with every counter-opinion to yours

Your worth is worthless and your prospects worth less than that

 

Pride declines a charitable offer yet, you wish they’d persist

Dismissal and cynicism is your antidote to their wise advice

Don’t you think I have thought of that and tried this? You say

The fact is that, embarrassment at your own ineptitude becomes hostility

 

The face of your child is a gallery of unconscious naivety

You draw her in close as if it could be a surrogate for decent food and warmth

You cry for them and, perhaps, more for you at your inability to provide

You’re not sure how or when it will end but certainly, it will end

 

Slowly yet, quite perceptibly, you have become the person you scorned

You now comprehend the reason for their shabby appearance

You realise that hesitance isn’t stupidity but a fear of making a bad impression

You can now walk a mile in another man’s shoes…until they wear out

Popularity: 1% [?]