Martyrdom at Barnet House

Always fold the scarf lengthways,
Unless you give it to one
Who has set themselves ablaze,
Who, as a martyr upon
Their moments of transcendence,
Is attuned to compassion
And to interdependence,
When the white khata, ashen
Before the flames, may be thrown,
Dismissing this convention.
The housing office, Whetstone,
Began the circumvention
Of her self-immolation.

Clasp the khata to your head,
And make your presentation
With reverence, unless led
By those housing office staff
Past the still burning body—
And then you may throw the scarf
At one seeking tenancy,
And dismiss this injunction;
Offer it by fingertip,
And the scarf will still function
To indicate a kinship.

I shall not fold this khata—
Nor could it remain intact,
When, to redress the latter
Circumvention of her act
Of defiance, I accede
Only to the benefit
They are fearful might exceed
Her sacrifice: I throw it.

The Art Dealer's Negotiation

I suggested that I could give
This painting to the museum
In exchange for a means to live:
When they came in at a high sum,
I offered it, sudden, for free,
Except for a mere wage, is all —
I asked if they might employ me.
When refused, I could not recall
My assuredness in dealing,
Could only lunge forward to rise
From a position of kneeling,
And I threatened to aquilise
Lady Sophia Brunel’s nose,
To become an iconoclast;
If it was not sane to propose
What I had, then a rhinoplast
I’d be of this painting’s subject.
Painting, a nation's heritage —
When your value does not reflect
Onto me, I broaden the bridge,
And reduce your value to mine.