A Letter to the Average Leave Voter

BREXIT.

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1. A Letter to the Average Leave Voter

 

I guess that you and Trump and Putin all got what you wanted, huh?

And I wonder, are you happy now? 

 

I am fifteen years old,

and you are a cardboard cut-out person

from a generation that will soon be dust.

Did you know, some of the Leave posters 

were just touched-up coloured-up Nazi propaganda?

That is not democracy.

The media's scrawled fear all over your body 

in size 34, black Ariel font.

 

And you let it.

 

You lay with its lies

and let it decide that being 

xenophobic, racist, bigoted, complacent

was no longer enough.

 

You had to vote.

 

And I wonder, are you happy now?

 

Are you happy scrunched up like UKIP's used tissue

in the corner of your care home?

Maybe there's a black nurse on your hospital ward,

and you wonder why he's still helping you drink 

from those red plastic bottles that they give to all the old people-

he's still helping you breathe 

so you can speak 

so you can vote

so you can tell him to bugger back off to his own country,

not realising he was born in this same hospital you're dying in.

 

You're loathing and contempt;

you're 'the good old days' that stoned gay men in the streets 

and told women they didn't have the kind of 

smarts that you do. 

 

And I wonder, are you happy now?

 

It's all a game of who to blame.

 

'British rights for British workers',

but you haven't had a job in

ten

long

years; 

and unlike so many refugees, you're not looking for one.

 

and now all the parents that relied on the foreign factories are calling your bluff too late, 

the same way you've been relying on fallacies 

and calling them truths. 

 

It's all a game of who to blame-

who to blame first, who to blame fastest.

But who're you going to blame now?

 

I blame you. 

 

You're aspartame and assumed supremacy;

already dressed in the flags of a nation that's

eating itself up and choking on the pieces-

ripping new borders between a kingdom 

that seems less like Elysium,

more like perdition.

 

And I wonder, are you happy now?

 

I talked to my grandfather's friend, a farmer,

and he told me he'd barely known anything but Europe

his whole life.

Now he just 'felt like a change, you know?'

 

Whims are all very well when jobs and dreams aren't tied round their shoulders. 

 

I am fifteen years old,

and you were given the reigns of my future

and instead of driving me forwards,

you've pushed me from this horse and cart.

 

No one's there to catch me.

 

The moon reads bedtime stories to oblivion,

tales of loss and grief and the ends of eras, 

and I wake up to the sun streaking her tears across the future

as the rights

to love and work 

and live and learn 

abroad are slipping through 

the gaps between our generations. 

 

aber ich kann nichts dafuer

but I can't do anything

but I can't help it

but it's not my fault

 

So take your 10 years left to live and face it up against my 75.

 

I guess that you and Trump and Putin all got what you wanted, huh?

And I wonder, are you happy now? 

 

I blame you. 

 

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