I Can Never Forgive Ann Widdicombe
The day they tore the flats down,
a woman dressed in a navy blue
uniform with red silk sash –
buttons and medals winking
with delight in the low March
sun – turned up on site
with a bugle to sound
‘The Last Post’.
Former residents,
well-wishers, the curious
and those glad that their
nemesis had finally
been defeated,
gathered behind red
striped safety barriers
to witness its end.
Two hundred miles away
I watched the scene
on BBC local news
through the SkyBox.
All I could think of, while
comfort eating Turkish Delight,
was Pink Floyd’s chanting
in “The Trial”.
Ann Widdicombe played
to the camera – with that
gleeful chortle and twinkle
hiding the demon within –
she pushed the button
to start the demolition.
Wielding the wrecking
ball that took down
the bridge between blocks.
Her perfect photo-op.
A Tory Housing Minister’s dream;
to laugh while destroying
working class homes
. . . while Roger Waters intones
the coda from The Wall.
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