There’s a famous video on YouTube:
A man chasing a dog that’s chasing deer
In Richmond Park. He’s yelling “Fenton, stop”.
That man’s father, it turns out, was admired
In her youth by the late Prime Minister
Mrs Margaret Thatcher, and this, it seems
To me, is the kind of juxtaposition
To which poets ought to be attending.
I hope that explains what I’m up to here
Although the truth is I’m somewhat unsure
Of what I can do with this interesting
Meshing of the public and the private
Other than to speculate as to what
Might have happened to history had she
Been admired in return. Would the Falklands
Still be British or Fenton be so free?
This is a poem I would never submit for publication, but which, nevertheless, I rather like.