And so the French now bite back as piranha like we prowl past them;
Napoleons cresting Neptune set against our somewhat ancient Canute,
Who is busily stalling the waves in the hope  that our crumbling cruise can 
Command them; all in a dank age of Poseidon and a shortage in shops
That’s acute. It is just another hook in the flesh that the British believe
Has been constant. For, as the tabloids tell the french hate us, and so 
We must hate them back, and worse; spurn the culture they gave,
As they teach us how to eat and drink, let’s be honest, and accomadate
Our transgressions while the spirit of detente sinks and burns.
And yet how else should they be, that is if Macron’s act is aggressive;
As I cannot side with Johnson who is messily slapping the waves
Like a child, and whipping up foam whether at the mouth or in spirit,
That boils my blood and bubbles across increasingly bitter channels
That today appear warlike as fishermen feeling fearful or sailors seized
Become salvage of sorts. The sea’s wild. That country is nearer to us
Than London’s next major city, and while proximity is not closeness
In the political  sense of that word, surely respect for what each 
Nation goes through would provide some form of connection; but no,
Such naivety now feels absurd. I  fear for the fish as these plastic sharks
Try to charge wired water; for as they’re sliced and suffer no-one is saved,
Or, worse, fed. And another battle begins as the bastards’ barter called Brexit
Bears its pointless teeth, while its tastebuds have as much use to us now
As the dead’s. Which we are, or will be, waiting there in the water
Ostensibly for someone to walk on it, and with a new net of love
Catch respect. Everywhere now will be a snatch and grab form
Of fishing; with poachers perhaps stealing salmon, or wilder tribes
Strangling streams; or even the English abroad offering themselves up
For derision, or, our mistrust growing greater as we seem determined
To forget Europe’s dreams. The next time you eat fish and chips,
Spare a thought for those waters; they may soon seem poisoned,
As the blame and the bounty is both denied and divided in some
Private charter that will douse and drown public schemes.
Children piss in the sea as sly shit sets sail towards us. 
In setting its course, these strange struggles stain sand and shoreline 
As trouble travels in some deformed submarine. The sea is soiled instantly 
And in being spat back could well scar us. In these the first symptoms 
The sickness to come tastes obscene.  
David Erdos October 29th 2021

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