A paean to Brexit

Andy Bodle
2 min readJan 17, 2020

Furlongs and fathoms and gallons and perches,
Schools re-equipped (with canes, slippers and birches),
Time at the bar at 11pm,
Ladylike skirts with an ankle-high hem.

Antimacassars and old music boxes,
Legal permission to maim and kill foxes,
Coal mines and coal fires and smog and black lung,
Horses and coaches and streets full of dung!

Rattles on match day, not them vulvazelas,
Sensuous foot rubs at camp from Akela,
Skipping and hopscotch and conkers and jacks,
Pubs that are free of dogs, Irish and blacks!

Washing the dishes by hand, not machine,
Pogroms and blackshirts and Combat 18!
Checkout staff who call me “Sir” and not “Bruv”,
Films without swearing and homes without love!

Typewriters, pencils — or better, a quill!
Thirty per cent chance of death when you’re ill!
Andersen shelters and Spitfires and Spam!
Frankly, dear Scarlett, I don’t give a damn!

Bring British justice back home from the Hague!
Bring back red squirrels! Bring back the plague!
Rorke’s Drift and Culloden, and Waterloo:

You may not want this, but I won the vote;
And democracy says that we’re in the same boat.
As I depart through the heavenly doors,
That past I requested, my son — now it’s yours.