To a Guardian columnist, who shall remain nameless
At the finish of the recent ice age, when
history suddenly wasn’t over any more
and another future began to be written
you were the first daffodil to push its face
up through earth frozen twenty-five years
before those with stronger stems followed
to better face what the wind would bring.
Today, you’re outraged the resurrected
Allende didn’t consult you on his media strategy
while the coup plotters were bombing
the presidential palace from the air, though all
the while you left your smart phone on
to take his call.
When the new round of mechanised killing
really gets going — somewhere near Calais,
or due south of Budapest — you’ll make
a latest video for the Guardian,
speak earnestly to camera
about the appalling roughness of some
of the lavatory paper there
and post it on Twitter.
Can’t be easy
when no one but you gets it:
we’ll only defeat great evil
by taking it out for coffee
and seeing its point of view.
Over the years you become its new,
more persuasive face.
By Kevin Higgins