‘and not/one of the unborn will appreciate/freedom like this ever’
– After Liberation, translated by Seamus Heaney from the Dutch of J. C. Bloem (1887–1966)
Concert FM presenter, fluting in ear buds
over the piping talk of kids on holiday, notes
the composer’s repute may have suffered
for his being a Minister of Culture
for the National Socialists. May have?
Kids scoot off to the park, hissing
at each other – someone’s door may
get a ding-dong ditch. The retiree
they pranked a while ago has taken to
watching them over his fence. He’s
become their beast of thrilling fear, his
incontinent lab, the hound of death.
Another man, redundant, plans CCTV.
There’ll be less of our suburban laissez-faire.