The Metro, 2.8.17—i.m. Heathcote Williams
There is no hope for egos like Kroenke’s
his actions despicable beyond belief
for trophy-bagging endangered species;
his henchmen stupidly drugged like him
with soulless triumphalism, inane grins
—they need to be hunted to extinction.
And so politics is an Arsenal football
there is no escaping
you thought it was just a game
but this one’s for real
they’ll be waiting for him on the astral
all those animals in a line
disguised as shamans,
united with one voice:
‘This is where Failure begins’.
The big game’s poised—
this time the pitch is sand, and full of lions:
Kroenke is Roman Imperial
slow to learn his lesson, too slow
so slow he’s utterly retro
in his reincarnated pinstripe,
once again just here for the ride
and fatally entitled
to all that money can buy.
The ball rolls out: this time his face
is overprinted on it—the fans
are not buying it, the team’s on strike
the pitch is a bunch of diverse species
playing with Kroenke’s head,
while the bored stadium boos
and we give him the thumbs down.