The clenched fist

rocking back and forth says it all,

it is after all in your actions that it looks

terrifyingly like the Nazi salute, but that

surely is nothing new for the man

who married money and still has the gall

to claim thirty seven pounds for breakfast.

 

Many miles away,

in the shadow of the Welsh hills,

in the shadow of where dust once reigned,

a young man pumped his arm to salute

his one hundred runs,

a salute delivered with guile, promise

and the assured look of humility in battle,

the young man in white could teach you a lesson

oh black-hearted one as you stood proudly

on camera braying

“Excellent, excellent, excellent”

over and over again,

your face betraying it all,

your purpose served,

you condemn others to poverty,

if such a thing existed anymore…

 

Not too far from you, a small well hit tennis ball

wins a game into which a national hero

stands aloft, he himself a giant but

with the grounding of modesty by his side

and he pumps the air, shoulders back, decent and reposed;

you could learn a lesson from him…

 

All the pumped arms, down by the people’s side,

unassuming, noticeable, with pleasure, with glee,

with prowess and meekness in spirit,

yours,

yours is the only one to be filled arrogant shame

pump harder, make it look like you truly mean it,

for the smile,

that damned smile of hatred for anyone

outside your comfort zone

shows your weakness,

your Mosley like stance…

 

It is your ego that feeds us to the lions.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015