“Hmm”
By Panopticon
A sad, funny story of Sergei and Yulia –
not ‘funny ha-ha’, but funny peculiar…
One Sunday in March they decided to eat
at a nice little café, then stopped at a seat
where they both felt unwell at the very same minute –
now I think that’s quite a coincidence, ‘innit?
So an ambulance came for the pair, as requested.
But when they were studied, and prodded, and tested,
nefarious substances in them were found –
and not only there, but spread all around
old Salisbury town, up hill and down valley –
(the High Street is now known as ‘Chemical Alley’).
A passing D.S. who just happened to be there,
was poisoned like them when he went off to see where
they lived – or did he succumb at the scene?
(His bosses told two different stories on screen).
And while a good nurse who had tended them well
suffered no side effects, ‘far as I can tell,
some thirty-eight people were treated as victims,
but I think that someone was taking the mick, since
a day or two after those numbers were stated
the whole bloody lot of them evaporated.
*** Hmm. ***
The media descended like swivel-eyed dervishes,
paid no attention to church Sunday services;
campanologists’ melodies had to be quietened,
so BBC viewers could all be enlightened:
“Could you silence those chimes, my parochial friend?”
“Well I could, but at least can we hear the bell end?”
Now Boris mistakenly took that as cue
to appear on the telly, and give us his view
that the case had been cracked by his government sources,
e’en though the police had advised “Hold your horses”;
his bods back at Whitehall had worked round the clock
to identify something called ‘Doorknobichok’ TM
which he claimed had been smeared on the victims’ front door,
under cover of darkness on March 3 or 4.
‘Twas a devilish stuff that will kill you in seconds,
and was put there by Russkies (or so his boss reckons).
So lethal that only a tenth of a gram
would transport you to heaven, to visit your gran.
“So we have two deceased?” the reporters surmised;
“No, they’re not dead” said Boris, “just hoskripalised!”.
*** I thank you. ***
Then someone observed something really quite odd –
that the door didn’t seem to have bothered the plod
who was tasked with the duty of guarding the place,
long before it was clear that a poison was traced.
“So how could this be?” it was asked of the Tory,
who conferred with his bosses, and then changed his story:
“No, it wasn’t the handle, but gas-tainted air
in the Skripals’ jalopy, ‘cause Vlad put it there!”
Then when this didn’t wash, he tried yet another –
“it was smuggled from Moscow by Yulia’s mother! (in law)”
In one last attempt to convince us that Putin
had ordered his henchmen to go put the boot in:
“They may have consumed it at breakfast, you see –
in Ricincles or Special K(GB);
for although it would seem like the plot of a thriller,
I’m convinced that our Vlad is a cereal killer!”
*** Hmmm. ***
Then a cordon was thrown around Salisbury town,
which was only a bus ride from old Porton Down
(a village connected to our alleged traitor –
for Sergei is he – but more of that later).
The government said that their duty of care,
because of the obvious dangers in there
meant they might have to pull down the café and pub,
so the locals would have to go elsewhere for grub;
And because of the contaminated front door,
their dwelling might need to be razed to the floor.
Well, this understandably raised some concerns
with the Salisbury folk, who took it in turns
to request some advice, because nobody knows
if they’d gotten the stuff on their shoes, or their clothes:
“Should we burn our belongings, or dump them at sea?”
“Nah, just wash ‘em on ‘quick rinse’ at forty degrees”.
“And what of that sinister place up the lane
where your poisons are made, is that whence it came?”
“If you don’t mind me saying, your question’s absurd,
as of Doorknobichok TMay, we never have heard,
except for the stockpiles we keep for ourselves,
and they are all safe and secure on our shelves”.
*** Oops. ***
The blame was laid squarely on Moscow and Vlad
(as we know from our Bond films that Russians are bad);
expulsion of diplomats worldwide arranged;
accusations thrown, and insults exchanged.
All cultural visits were cancelled or put off,
and Julie Assange had his internet cut off.
Then lo! and behold, our story got murky,
in a village you’ll find in a country near Turkey.
The Syrian leader, one Bashar Assad,
was repelling invaders, which made the West mad;
but just as his victory was nearing at last,
his own population he cruelly gassed –
or so we were told by the Powers That Be,
who strung us a line, didn’t want us to see
that some brave independents were taking a risk,
like Bartlett and Beeley, Stuart and Fisk,
to show us the true situation in Douma –
if the press did its job we’d have realised sooner
that far from Assad being a monster, and hated
by all of his people, he was celebrated
and trusted to stand up as their only true hope,
in the face of attacks from the U.S. and Europe.
And he wasn’t a ‘butcher’, on murderous mission,
but a family man, and a licenced optician.
*** We should’ve gone to Specsavers. ***
Emotional images filled up our screens,
showing suffering women, and babies, and teens;
they were choking on chlorine, which made us all furious –
but no men affected, which did seem quite curious…
The West didn’t wait, we accepted the claim
that the evil Assad was entirely to blame.
He was guilty of war crimes, as evidence proved –
for the good of the people, he must be removed!
Notwithstanding the signs that the Syrians may seem
broadly in favour of Mr. A’s ‘regime’
and the fact that with Russia they had some protection
from outside attacks, or their own insurrection.
Our Washington friends would insist that they need some
of Uncle Sam’s good ol’ American freedom
which had been so successful, I’m frequently told,
where nations had hardships, and oil, gas, and gold.
The narrative blaming Assad for the crimes
was reported as fact in The Sun and The Times
and most western leaders were keen to appease the
hawkish intentions of Boris and Theresa.
But a doubt did remain that the entire event
might have been a ‘false flag’, with malicious intent –
would our lovable ‘BoJo’ condone such a stunt?
Yes he would, because he’s an untrustworthy cad.
*******************************
Before we continue I think that we ought’ta
return to the poor stricken father and daughter
whose problems all started when they were infected
with poison – but how this event was connected
to wider concerns internationally,
and the threat of an outbreak of World War III
can be found in the c.v. of old Mister S.,
and the time he was caught and was made to confess
that a Brit double-agent was his part-time job,
with some colleagues betrayed for a few extra bob.
So a jail cell in Moscow was where he would stay,
till a spy swap arrangement took him to U.K.
Here he stayed for a while, but he yearned to go home,
which worried the spooks listening in on his phone.
Was this why the homesick old Russian was nobbled?
Or was it the claim that with help he had cobbled
together a dossier aimed at the POTUS,
that the Democrats hoped would dissuade U.S. voters
And result in the triumph of Hillary Clinton,
with subsequent guaranteed hell, fire and brimstone?
The plot didn’t work, and old Trump was elected,
but whatever the reason the pair were infected,
our government said “It’s clear if you ask us,
that this can be traced all the way to Damascus,
for it shows that the Russians will use any measure
to help young Assad and incur our displeasure;
The agents of Putin can poison to order
And will have no respect for law, life or border.
But nothing must stop the success of our plan
which began in Baghdad and will end in Tehran.”
*** “Highly Likely” ***
So despite all the evidence proving this crisis
was carefully staged by the West’s friends in ISIS,
these facts were ignored by the Beeb and the papers,
who called for an end to the Syrian’s capers.
This gave our P.M. all the reasons she needed
to mount an attack, with all protests unheeded,
along with her chums in the U.S. and France,
but they thoughtfully notified Vlad in advance;
for this wasn’t a true act of war, but a sham,
to convince all the voters that they had a plan.
A fortune was spent on some shiny new rockets
(replacements would benefit shareholders’ pockets);
so where shall we fire ‘em? Mrs. May scratched her head:
“Well we wouldn’t want anyone injured, or dead,
but we know where he hides his consignment of gases,
to terrorise all of his downtrodden masses,
so we’ll send in these missiles, with shock and with awe,
and we’ll blow the dumps up, which will shorten the war”.
“Won’t those missiles release all the toxins therein,
to kill one and all – a terrible sin??”
A blank look appeared, then Theresa retorted:
“I’d not thought of that, could you please not report it?”
*** Jesus H. Christ. ***
The bombing commenced, on irrelevant target
So the Maybot could emulate her idol, Margaret,
and show that in conflict she was strong and mighty
but meanwhile, something was stirring in Blighty…..
Our young Russian lady, whose certain demise
was expected, suddenly opened her eyes
just as Easter approached, in her hospital prison,
To be greeted with cries of “Christ, she is risen!”
And to make matters worse, she had borrowed a phone
and confirmed her good health to her cousin back home –
which scuppered the prospect that Yulia could
have been quietly forgotten, or silenced for good.
But what of her daddy, who’d been at death’s door
‘cause he’d got on the outside of A-234?
Well I’m glad to report that, despite the prognosis
that follows ingestion of such fatal doses
both he and the bobby awoke from their comas,
which filled sceptics’ nostrils with fishy aromas;
for what kind of poison, designed to be lethal
has no such effect on these three lucky people?
There were so many questions we needed to ask,
but journalists didn’t seem up to the task;
this global concern that had Doomsday advancing
took a sad second place behind ‘Strictly Come Dancing’.
And the government proved they had something to hide
by imposing a ban on reporting worldwide.
*** Russians can dance too! ***
So the Skripals survived , but we still couldn’t see them,
the Powers That Be had denied them their freedom
And took them away to location unknown
without access to newspapers, TV or phone.
(I thought that their chances were now slim-to-none –
remember the plotline of ‘Capricorn One’?)
Then just as our hopes had been starting to fade
our Yulie appeared in a green English glade
and read out a statement, author unknown,
that asked if we kindly would leave her alone;
for although she was well she would like to appeal
that we give her more time to get through her ordeal;
and this sentiment really had nothing to do
with the fact that her kidnappers bloody well knew
that if they could escape from their new adversaries
they’d scoot back to Moscow and sing like canaries.
For if you think that Russia was guilty, I’ll tell you
where we can meet up, there’s a bridge I can sell you…
***************************
Epilogue
So that was the last that we saw of the pair
but it isn’t the end of this sorry affair
For although we’re not sure why the Skripals were picked on
It’s clear the official response was pure fiction
and twisted to play to the NeoCons’ plan
to annihilate Syria, to get to Iran
and to demonise Russia, who stands in the way
of a world dominated by U.S. of A.
Who’d support this assault? The U.K. and E.U. did
and lied through their teeth, ‘cause they think we’re all stupid.
But the crimes we commit on behalf of our rotten
regimes to our neighbours, will not be forgotten;
their patience will only protect us so far
then the West will provoke an unwinnable war.
And we’ll wonder how things could have got to the state
where we fear for ourselves and our own children’s fate
but forget that this land, where democracy lives
is now governed by liars, and traitors, and spivs
who will rig the roulette wheel for guaranteed wins
till we find that they’ve played us like cheap violins;
whose fake manifestos fight for our attention
with lies about justice, and healthcare, and pensions;
who’ll cheat, kill and steal, till they’ve conquered all nations
preaching hatred of Africans, Russians and Asians
and throughout their pursuits they’ll accept no dissent
and it’s all on behalf of the great one per cent.
And we’ll ask God how He could allow such a sin
And He’ll say “It was you lot who voted them in”.
*******************************
In Memory of Nash Van Drake and friends
2018
