Pseudonyms for a Disillusioned Kingdom

Call us the Bastard Wing of Europe,
a Kneecapped Ulysses,
Little Island Floating in its own Ennui.

Call us Goat Sacrificed By Greed,
Undrinkable Water Found In A Stream Running Past a Deconsecrated Church.
A See-Saw of Drunken Economists.

Call us Fanfare for the Common Tory,
Pomp and Ridiculous Circumstance,
Violin Elegy on Down-tuned Strings Play by a Three-fingered Fool.

Call us anything but "Great,"
anything but "United,"
a Negative Contribution Towards the Work of a Nation,
a Traditional Apprentice Towards Subsidisation,
an Unemployed Pollster,
a Jester of the Parliament.

But Europe, don’t call us;
we’ll call you
once we’re dried out our futurologies
and blown out our home-grown wings.