Theresa, oh, Theresa...!
Not a voice you'd want to raise yer
Like a rusty steam hammer
Using polystyrene blocks
In place of oil
As the fingernails
Of all the souls
Burning in hell
Try to get a grip
On a blackboard
Embedded with
Dull razor blades
Whilst the Devil's cockerel
Announces the start
Of another shift
At the child-braising factory...
Margaret, oh, Margaret...!
Your voice is dead but I hear you yet
There's a shudder down my spine
Even now when they dig you up
From the archives
Passing on your dubious
Wisdom from beyond
Your icy grave
My only relief is
That of all those souls
Burning in hell
Listening carefully
I can hear your
Screams somewhere
In the voice of
Your terrifying successor
Martin A W Holmes, October 2016
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