Have you thought how you might look on telly?
Because the way you squealed, totally aghast,
and the way you’ve revelled in taking revenge,
a director might have sized you up and cast
a bass-baritone as an emasculated Farinelli
playing an evil alien architect of a henge
that for 10 years now, when bridging the void
between the Victorian police and every “other”
is the sacred duty of the Triple R space mother
be the person sweet or offensive to the nose,
be the person black, gay, a “bizarre” paranoid
schizophrenic turned angry, violent protester
or a lonely, “rehabilitated” child molester,
has provided water for many a copper’s hose.