The white man with the toothache complained
“The death of truth”
“The demise of fact”
as if One Truth ever lived.
He wore red hair,
“Subjective trumps objective”
“Trust lost in slipstreams”
as if post- modern chatter
arose blind from ignorance
and there was the matter of his nonpliant feet.
“Authorities pushed aside”
“Authors born at every corner”
and no more news swallowed kosher,
we’ve seen gods sit on cracked toilets.
The white man’s ears were bent
“Let us respect disrespectors,
honour the heralds of doubt.
smash panes of glass with Apps and axe,
shatter the gorgon’s mask,
inhale medicine of liberation,
assassinate a holy trinity,
mend faith in next generation
of wordsmiths, dentists, and fools.”
The red man cried.
From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 