Farewell, Mrs Blue

Beneath cerulean skies

The blue suits turn to black.

But blue eyes cannot turn

 

Their back on their reprise;

Burning wood with hard

Uncompromising stare.

 

(Blinking fast away

Those pained, unwanted cries

Of protest voices, there.)

 

Now who’s easy pickings,

helpless to attack?

 

Powder blue, they say

Did stain

Their Union Jack.

 

They will rise and sink you

Like you sunk that ship.

Drowned in Marine blue.

 

From the world, withdrew

A girl.

They’ll drag you back.

 

Banners raised will hold

The yoke that cinched its noose

Around your pearl-laced neck.

 

Storm among the wreck.

Conqueror, behold

The Phoenix reincarne,

 

Ashes, black as coal,

They’ll smear them on the face

Of guilt; they give a darn.

 

Cursing in the name of

You who through the ilk

Did breed a class-fed war.

 

You who snatched the milk-

 

Others, they console,

extol; for just like you

they will not ever turn-

 

For no scar marks a burn.

 

Matched in cobalt silk.

Like you, they will not learn.

Times are a’changing,

Turn.

-

Dear old Mrs Blue,

A cyan flaming stove

Ignited there in you

 

The will to serve your world.

To run country and home,

To do it all alone.

 

A woman on her throne

said Society, what of?

Let man and woman live.

 

Yet some cannot forgive.

 

In ending one divide

You went and then contrived

A new, contagious split.

One without remit:

 

To loathe or to become

A pious Thatcherite.

-

Now, the ground is dug

and time will take your trowel.

Behold, your dole-filled mine

Its burdens, earthly, foul.

 

And through the blackened tears

Your grief is tinged with spite; look

what becomes a world

Forced into black and white.

 

But see, amidst the coal

A sapphire, so blue

A pearl you held within

and now release, anew:

 

Once, you said that You

may have to fight a battle

more than once to win.

If quitting be a sin-

Your haters serve you well.

 

Let politics ensue.

Farewell now, Mrs Blue.

 

Emily Fitzell