Just Another (B****t) Fairy Tale

[NotQuiteSure]

Just Another (B****t) Fairy Tale


Once upon a time...

Three little pigs
helped the cockroach build a straw man,
for brave old Mr. Wolf to knock right down.
And piglets everywhere are so relieved,
they'll sleep tonight all safe and sound.

--------

In their webs the cadres are busy spinning,
fashioning fictions into 'facts'.
Manure to manna, a transmutation,
Miss Moffett doesn't buy their act.

But still they twist, turn and manufacture,
suits to suit an emperor, fit up a mob.
Their palms have been crossed with so much silver.
Well, someone has to do the job.

And now the sun has stolen the true day,
from the shadows comes a scheming,
huffing, puffing Grandpa wolf;
the moonlight on his knife blade gleaming.

--------

Little Red pulls her hoodie tighter.
It is cold out, Grandma's door slams shut.
She's not so young that she can't tell
it's a lie that starts, 'I love you, but'.

Inside Granny's washing her hands,
cursing: 'Out! Out! Out! Damn spots!'
She thinks that this is not her doing
and she will not hang upon her cross.

Shh.
Piglets have closed their eyes so tight,
all the better to see the Never Been.
That Perfect Past that is their Future.
Sibilant steel whispers in their dreams.

--------

This little piggy, picked to guard the sheep
told porkies a time or two it seems.
Was banished to the glooming Great Woods,
to lose so many was quite a feat.

And sheep are always milling, bleating
about if they could just turn back the clock.
The hour's late, but Bo Peep's posting:
Can you believe this? I mean, What The Flock?

Those little piggies went off to market,
they went as sausages, chops and pies.
Their veal-sweet flesh so very tender
grown fat and weak on nowt but lies.

--------

An eagle fell, his great wings broken.
A white tail darkened as he bled.
That eagle's voice, a proclamation,
was not the first. There was the girl in red.

--------

Upon these shores a wild west wind blew.
It reeked of excess, waste, of rubbish dumps.
The Realm was shaken, noses turned,
again the Orange Ogre trumped.

And look, there goes the cockroach scuttling,
abroad, toward that glittering lair.
Giddy in a golden elevator,
but is that gold? And is that hair?

Old Mr. Wolf is always hungry,
he and his kind want more and more,
and if sheep and piggies each have less;
well, are they not the undeserving poor?

--------

Children sent to bed without their supper,
their cries were all a deaf ear heard,
are calling it a Savile Referendum,
for they think they've been...
...well, you know the word.

So tales like this should have a moral.
But morals on fleet feet have fled.
The Realm is riven, deep division,
such as separates the Living from the Dead.

Now I have nothing more to tell you,
for I am heartsick, lost and sore.
Bewildered by the way the world turned,
the battle's done. Here comes the war.