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Les absents ont toujours tort



 A tired idea, that the personal’s political
And as every overworked drab of a phrase
Will note, when they gather, for tea
And a sympathetic hearing they say
We’re a tired idea, but has anyone
Ever asked  us?

Kicking back, relaxing
Sighing, melting into their seats
Smiling tightly at each other
Dreaming of a rest

A little time off, some R&R
And even the dullest, workaday truism
Could come back sparkling, imagine
Thinking yes, the personal
Is political and then it follows
That this is, in part, on you

Think what could happen then
When everyone realises
They’re part of the world

Pity the stock answers, sent shuffling
Out time after time, to fall limply and miserably
From whoever’ s fallen foul
Of the news cycle this time, or
Whichever poor sod answered his phone

Imagine if let me be clear
Meant let me be clear
Imagine if learning lessons
Meant learning lessons

Imagine the world then

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