Sort yourself out Alan Bennett You lack swagger and stride and hold raincoat in hand You are the documenter of a filthy age Not one that holds the reflection of a revolution on the Thames You may quiver and shiver and fray at your prey Alan Bennett But do you think we remember you, or your words? You are the keeper of a secret rage Not one that holds sanction in glorious Catholic churches You are not confused for David Hockney as often as you think Alan Bennett His opinions are not national treasures You are the one who murders the fly on the page Not one who thinks of the death as your own Alan Bennett, I’ve never been to the queen’s country I’ve never seen the river polluted by a thousand ghosts Never seen your poets buried in fourteen rows Never had my bruises healed by the kiss of a Molly Alan Bennett, What exactly is a history boy? Am I one? Are you one? Is Hector the last? I wonder if the first draft of his thought kisses your bruises… Alan Bennett do you wake in the middle o...
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