A Paper Thread

There’s a paper thread, a trail, a trace
that leads all the way back to the government

We wondered why we had not been called upon
felt slightly queasy, a little on edge

Then realised that it was all up for grabs –
specious, she said, a waste of voice

And there were protestors too, thousands and thousands
making their voices heard in the frozen city air

Nowhere to be seen in the newspapers, they were busy
photographing the heir to the throne sitting on a chair

We get the media we deserve, so the wealthy owners tell us
and the misgivings of governments are washed away by distraction

Nothing to see here, pass along now, look at that bright shiny story
and as if we were goldfish, we swim off, mouths open in disbelief.

Also published on Medium.