Illusion,

always sold as patriotism,

worse still when packaged

and stamped

by the Vicar’s daughter,

caught with her knickers down

and prepared to engage

in necrophilia

with the ghostly offspring of the grocer

and who is on the side

in thought

of a bitch whose mouth betrays

the evil in her heart;

this illusion we engage with

because it suits us, we keep just

on the side on respectability

because to sink further would betray

the fact that we like our two cars,