Edward Snowden’s in the spare room

spies are hiding in the bin

a pack of Fleet Street’s finest

are struggling to get in

there’s paparazzi in the flowerbeds

and killers in the yard

And Ed thinks he’s in Cuba

it’s going to be hard

to explain this is a terrace

in a sleepy cul-de-sac

which may be nothing like Havana

but he’ll have to watch his back

because he’s made a lot of enemies

who don’t owe him any favours

and the postman’s looking shifty

and who on earth are my new neighbours?

That couple by the lamppost

and that bloke up on the roof

and the pensioner at the bus-stop

and that surly hooded youth

are all people I don’t recognise

the street is full of strangers

and he may be getting paranoid 

but Edward thinks that we’re in danger

of extreme and sudden termination

at the hands of agents of the state

or rendition to a lonely cell

where no-one knows our fate

but for now he’s in the spare room

with Digestives and some tea

and if you get asked, remember -

you didn’t hear this news from me.

 

 

© Steve Pottinger. 26 June 2013