EPHEMERA

We do not give a damn about the end

of Wrestedt and its hostage-taking scene,

nor yet about the Länders’ answers to

the Berlin government concerning steps

to safeguard institutions of the Jews;

and neither do we care about the fuss

the EU’s making over subsidies

or moves afoot to bail Kirch Media out

as Murdoch-Berlusconi lick their lips –

   but rather whether Schröder dyes his hair.

We’re not concerned about child poverty

or whether you can take the children out

and leave the parents poor, or whether Blair

promoted kids who were well off before,

nor yet about New Labour’s love affair

with PPPs  and their obsessional fear

of a return to shadow politics;

we’re not preoccupied with sordid streets

or infrastructural melt-down in our time –

   but rather with the state of Beckham’s foot.

                                    We are not interested in Janin

or if Israelis hid a massacre

while barring world observers from the camp;

nor in the wounded lying in the streets

because the ambulances are kept out;

nor even in the man they forced to knock

at neighbours, who then let the soldiers in;

nor in bulldozers flattening those cheap homes

with all their photos and kitsch bric-à-brac –

but rather in old Arafat’s grey beard.