We ARE The People

We aren’t the people whose houses have butlers
We’re the descendants of the scuttlers.

We aren’t the people with money, the rich
We didn’t vote for Thatcher THAT BITCH

We aren’t the people of Oxbridge, the dons
University of Life is where we’re from

Poetry’s not about books and posers
Poetry is the Stone. Fucking. Roses.

So stuff yer cloisters up yer arse
We ARE the people, this city is ours.

I was inspired to write this poem when I remembered about an English teacher we used to have in our school who smelled and wore tweed and used to bang on about TS Eliot and stuff. It's thanks to him that I never knew what poetry was, not until me and our kid went to Spike Island. I hope you enjoyed it.