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Ode to St. George

If George slayed a dragon,

What did he do afterwards?

Celebrate with a Sunday lunch and a cheeky pint of Banks?

Or have a Big Mac and cans of chemicals?

Did he sing along to Spring Rice's patriotic words,

Vowing to his country?

Or did he run through a shopping arcade,

Screaming, 'Ingerland, Ingerland, Ingerland!' with his flag on his back?

Maybe he roamed the country, Seahouses to Penzance,

To Norfolk from the Shires,

Or catch a flight to hotter climes,

On an 18 to 30 holiday for the booze and the women.

Perhaps he rested his weary bones,

Found a quiet spot to read Shakespeare or Alan Bennett.

Or did he become an author, writing with a spray can, 'SID WOZ ERE' in red paint?

Did he fight them on the beaches,

In this, his finest hour?

Or lie in his bedroom smoking pot,

Waiting to cash his latest giro?

Did he work in Sheffield,

Creating weapons and cutlery from steel's finest?

Or end up in a fight down town,

And swear at nurses in A and E at two in the morning?

Was he knighted by royalty,

Bowing at their feet?

Or did he spit at a pensioner,

Then gun down his mate for not paying for a fix?

I am proud to be English

But sometimes it hard to explain why.

Is it because in my head I had an ideology

Of an archaic realm that's changed before my eyes?

©RKJ Adams 2023

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