Outside the nuke base
All is quiet, the grass is growing
Silent on the roundabout
And the little waves on the nearby loch
Flicker back the noonday sun – no
Bodies blocking the gate – no
Awkward banners pointing accusation – no
Spilled paint categorising the business.
All is quiet and in the terms
Of the robotic constabulary, this is
The State of Normality.
This is The State of Normality
Which must not be breached.
The State of Normality
Must not be disturbed, the
Community must be allowed
To carry on as Normal
Along with the Local Business
Whose doings with the sheds
And the jetties and the deep, deep bunkers
Remains obscured to the constabulary mind
By an implant of artificial
lack of intelligence.