Independence Day

INDEPENDENCE DAY

A Brexit Essay by Kevin Bonfield

“Independence day! It’s fucking independence day!” I’m sure he actually did a little jump of joy as he repeated himself, adding “We get our fucking country back.”

There’s a burning inside my head. It’s not tears, they’ve been and gone. I can feel the heat in my face, there’s something thundering around my body, my heart won’t settle, somehow frozen, yet burning, burning. I think it’s rage. Rage. I’ll call it rage, I’ve never had such a barrage of heat and shuddering fury. And it’s pure instinct, I have no control over this.

I finally find my voice, “Did you vote?”
“Never do mate, they’re all fucking corrupt.” My workmate is so animated.
“But, you’re passionately celebrating the result?”
“Fucking am, why aren’t you fucking happy? No more immigrants clogging up our fucking NHS and stuff.”
“I’m not sure that’s what the referendum was about but……”

A month earlier, I’m in a chip shop. With my father. We’ve ordered four pieces of cod, two large chips, mushy peas and curry sauce. “So, will you be voting to leave?” He surprises me with the question. Whilst I’m pretty sure he’s goading me, I offer a mumbled, non-committal reply.
“That Boris Johnson is such a man of the people” he says, “I can’t see them losing.”
I just wanted to cry.

I still do.

A MAN THAT

A poem, inspired by living with dementia

By Kevin Bonfield

 

A man that can no
longer tell the time nor know
which day will be coming
next

Opens the top of a
carrier bag and
shows us an alarm
clock and a diary

A man whose long and
short term memory crackles
and sometimes
cackles

Opens the top of a
carrier bag and
shows us a shaver
and a camera

“They’ve told me I can’t be there”
A man who feels no
hot, nor time of day
but always hungers

For something sweet
A bit of music
Anything smooooth
with ketchup

“It’s the kids they can change it”
A man who hides
his remote control
in a plastic tub

Is told by voices
To move himself
and his worldly goods
The bedroom is now closed