Where Baseball Was Invented - Cassels

Every tweed-clad soul I despise and hate

Crawled by in a procession

Of top-of-the-line Range Rovers with personalised number plates

As the crops grow tall all ambition decays

And is instead replaced by a rudderless rage

Expounded each week

Same time, same place

By white faced racists

Who crimson to pink

After seeing red

At the bottom of their tenth drink down The Kings

Then it’s on to B&T

That stands for ‘bitter and twisted'

I don’t think a better example of irony has ever existed

Or perhaps of atrophy

Time drags and sags off brittle bones in the country

There’s no cartoonishly chipper ‘very big house' in Chippy

«You alright my duck?»

says someone’s Nan to someone’s Godson’s Mum’s sister

As the sound of the hunting horn — brought forth by some bloated, birth-defect,

incest lips

Is heard reverberating in the distance

The pathetic sound stirs the withered genitalia of the pugnacious huntsmen

Proof once and for all that slaughter is the most miraculous cure for chronic

erectile dysfunction