I feel it in my guts

There’s a secret nuclear bunker ar the bottom of my street
It’s on the Ordnance Survey Map along with flocks of sheep
The other one’s in Essex near Brentwood says the sign
Dont get on a train just yet, it’s not the Central Line

Are they for the Government or for my neighbours near?
Who is going to drop a bomb and escalate the fear?
Why d’ye think our tax goes up Boris drugs the goats
He’s building his own bunker now, with a private moat

If the bunker’s secret, who’s it hiding from?
Who can’t yet read English, but knows best how to stun
Is it Meghan Markle or little Lilibet?
Or someone quite invisible who makes the neighbours sweat

Should we all dig trenches and say we grow our spuds?
Either way this is the end,I feel it in my gut

2 thoughts on “I feel it in my guts

  1. Katherine, your poem reminded me of a trip my sister and I “out West” in the US some years ago. We had some time on our hands and a few more hours’ use of the rental car. We’d never been to Nebraska and it was closeby. What the heck? So off we go. Next thing we knew, we were driving down a country road with “corn as high as an elephant’s eye” even though it was Nebraska and not Oklahoma, when we realized every couple of hundred feet there was a “Minute Man” missile silo. Creepy, to say the least, but an accidental side trip to remember.

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