Peter Wyton has performed his poetry at festivals and arts centres in the U.K. Currently preparing for the Ledbury Poetry Festival in July.
A Last Blast From the Worm-Ridden
We are the dead. You can't do any more to us.
Hazards of mortality hold no further threat.
Tucked in our tombs, we stick two bony fingers up
At life-long adversaries, cancer, war and debt.
Don't come to us with your contemporary woes.
We feel no pain, responsibility or guilt.
You'd be appalled at our collective unconcern
For criticism of what milk or blood we spilt.
Pen fat biographies, if you're that interested,
But don't come over all judgmental, now we're not
Around to put our boots behind your backsides, or
Drag you before a firing squad and have you shot.
Dig up the dirt our lawyers wouldn't let you print
When we existed. We don't give a tinker's toss.
Each era boosts the ratings of original sin.
If we were bad, you lot are probably much worse.