Features

Archive for the ‘Features’ Category

Features, Human Rights, International

The teenagers we shot yesterday

were shot responsibly through the eye

with plain-speaking dum-dum bullets,

manufactured in Fife, or taken down

with SR 25 sniper rifles flown

heroically in from Orange County.

Many of these so-called protestors

specifically arranged to be shot in the back,

just to make us look bad.

 

The gas canisters our people threw

were entirely rational, and legal,

like the Boer firestorm the kaffirs

brought down on themselves at Sharpeville,

or the best-of-British ambush

that rubbish walked into at Derry.

 

The one rogue canister which lost

its mind and finished up in a tent

beside an eight month old baby,

who, sadly, also expired, is currently under investigation

and expects to be cleared of all wrong doing,

unlike the baby who we’ve already found guilty.

 

There is no such thing as Palestinians.

Just some Arabs who used to live here

and think they still do.

The keys they wave in the air

no longer open any doors.

They are a rumour you foolishly believed,

now we’ve moved our eternal capital

to what used to be

their front room.

17-5-2018

KEVIN HIGGINS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Forgetting

Apr
2018
10

Features

The minute I’m appointed Minister

for Justice, Broadcasting, and Espionage,

I’ll send forth a decree

making it criminal, and punishable

by being made sit forever

on a bus that never leaves

Kinnegad, to make any further mention of

Miriam O’Callaghan.

It will be an offence

to download any part of Miriam O’Callaghan

from the internet.

Furthermore, any computers or

smart-phones found to contain pictures

of Miriam O’Callaghan

will be broken up

by care-in-the-community

lunatics with specially made

hammers my Department will

provide them with.

The Armed Response Unit will begin

raiding houses known to contain back issues

of the RTE Guide disfigured

with her image.

 

It will be a crime even

for you to read this poem,

or, technically, for me to have written it.

If reading this poem in the printed version

be sure and eat the paper it’s written on

and that all of it has passed successfully

through your digestive system

bcfore you’re arrested.

 

KEVIN HIGGINS

The Great Trade Up

Jan
2018
25

Features, Uncategorized

 

It is written that the traditional,

wind-blown, mongrel

who herded us of old

would be traded in

for the one who calls himself

Lion; is in the gym

every a.m. by six, furiously

admiring his pelt

of pure gold.

 

That a man whose political base

was two elderly brothers who both ate

their excessively buttered spuds

off the same cracked plate

to save on the washing up;

would make way for a guy

who eats his artisanal

cauliflower and pickles

off a bespoke slate

his assistant happily carries

everywhere on his behalf.

 

And when the word was made reality

the people and their gods

saw it was progress to be rid

of a rural accent best suited

to pub chat about the match

between Galway and Mayo

and before this progress

we bowed and gave thanks.

 

Far better that next time the person in charge

is forced to broadcast from his (or her) life boat

to tell us that, sadly, we’re all dead,

it be done by one who in the womb

was already solving complex accountancy conundrums;

whose first words were “team of management consultants”

when, about half an hour ago,

he emerged to general applause.

KEVIN HIGGINS

Features

after Bertolt Brecht

You clean collared columnists

should first help us fix the basic roof-over-head

dilemma, before penning your next sermon.

 

You shower, who preach careful now

and always know your own exact bank balance,

what is this mature democracy towards which you sweat?

Without a door I can safely lock behind me

to keep your pity at bay, civilisation

doesn’t even begin.

 

First bring those of us who get by on Supermacs

each our own mahogany table and a big, silver knife

with which to cut the turkey and ham into manageable slices

(with a vegetarian option for those so afflicted)

and answer us this:

 

What put the diamonds in your owner’s wife’s ears?
Or the Prince Albert ring in her boyfriend’s willy?

The fact you’re in there polishing phrases

and we’re out here in the undemocratic rain

which everyone – from the Primate of the Church of Ireland

to the Council for the Women of  Consequence – agrees

must never be allowed land on you,

 

this is what keeps pinning diamonds

to your owner’s wife’s sad little lobes,

and puts the ring that winks up at her

in her boyfriend’s knob.

KEVIN HIGGINS