He was a very religious man and believed that Sunday (the Sabbath) should be a day for God, free of the trappings and distractions of the working week. Consequently, we weren't allowed a Sunday newspaper or to watch television on Sundays. When I pointed out to him the simple truth that he should forgo his Monday newspaper because men (and women) had laboured on the Sabbath to prepare it, I got a sharp clip around the ear!
He never read The Sun. The Guardian was his newsprint of choice. So this week's poem owes something to the imagination... but I like to believe he would have appreciated its sentiment.
The Shun
Oh, and by the way,
when the Sun comes out today
don't stump up good money for a copy.
Don't even read it for free
in a coffee shop or library.
Remember the lies it peddled
about Hillsborough,
pointing a hypocritical finger of blame
at Liverpool fans
under a headline proclaiming The Truth:
that they picked the pockets of victims,
that they urinated on the cops,
that they even beat policemen up...
Shame on the despicable rag.
It's not fit to wrap round fish and chips.
My dad wouldn't even wipe his bum with it.
Solidarity with the 96 he said.
Heads in high places should roll.
Real truth is revolutionary
and it will take its toll.
Shun the Sun for starters, citizen.
Thanks for reading. Have a good week, S :-) Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
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