Indoor Games Near Pyongyang

 

In among the nuclear silos, bully boys parade their conkers,

And the sounds of verbal V-signs echo round in Pongdong-ri:

‘You’re a dotard’, ‘You’re a loser’, ‘You’re a nutjob’, ‘You are bonkers’,

As Antonio Guterres welcomes all of us for tea.

                        Rich the club of nuclear powers,

                        Fast the fall of acid showers,

                                    Let us play Sardines!

                        Or Wink Murder, it will hauntcher

                        As you move your rocket launchers   

                                    To your cosy submarines.

 

Oh but Donald, when my heartstrings melted by your nuclear dumps,

            There you posed, your gold hair rigid,

            Fidgeting with thumb and digit,

There you pouted, there you led me off into the game of trumps.

            Then the Coca Cola spraying

            And your General Kelly saying

‘Choose your weapons for a meltdown, Systems Go at twelve o’clock!

            Come on Jong Un, foot it featly!’

            Was it fate that paired us sweetly,

            I who loathed you so completely:

You, who had a brain composed of diddly-squat and seaside rock?

 

‘Meet me when you’ve pulled the trigger.’ So we met and no-one heard it.

   Oh that deep and muffled bunker where we lay and hunkered down.

Holding paws and chewing sherbet, safe as spoons, as we preferred it,

   Grubby lips caressing as the bombs took out the town.

            Love that took a lot of beating –

            (‘Where is Donald?’ ‘Donald’s tweeting’) –

                        Love behind the war-head shed,

            Love so strong and narcissistic

            That it drove us both ballistic

                        When we killed the planet dead.

 

Farewell Kimmie! Party cadres lift you to the loading bay.

            Here’s your special mausoleum:

            Strapped on to an ICBM,

There you brave the elements that whisk you on your merry way.

            Tuckshop pockets filled with suckers

            Rocket Man will try his luck as

Off he flies in pink pyjamas, cashing in his final chips.

            Donald speeded his computer,

            Donald shared his trusty scooter,

            Donald is his perfect suitor,

Spurs him, while he soars sublimely, climbing to apocalypse.

 

           

Click here for a story in the i

 

Actually, here’s much the same story five years ago

 

Click here for the Betjeman original

 

 

 

 

 

 

23 September 2017

Teenagers are taking longer to grow up, according to psychology professor Jean Twenge of San Diego University. Kim Jong Un and Donald Trump traded insults.

 

With apologies to John Betjeman’s Indoor Games Near Newbury. Especially line 18!


POETRY KIT WEBRING

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