Men like you

He thinks he’s Churchill
But he’s Chamberlain
He walked out
Without barely walking in
Meeting his foe
Next of kin

The Greenhill, twenty-nine years
Twenty-four
Seventeen
Three months
That’s that, and don’t do
You do not do
Walking over the Greenhill

Coffee, sometime
On that day
I’ll drink tea
I hate tea
I hate you
And all the things
That men, like you
Do, and do not do