Formula One.

Formula One.

The Osprey is jostled

By the turbulence

From low-flying aircraft

Practising their skills

Formation dancing

Laying carpets

Along the valley floor

Pulling up sticks

At the end of a run

Taking the long way home

Across the mountains

Grist to the mill

Of the peacenik

In a makeshift shelter

At the entrance to the airfield

A last remainer

From a time when it was hip

To protest outside an airbase

Near Greenham

The thought of warheads

Going Nuclear

Enough to bring down a government

At a time when

Having an affair

Was a capital offence

Just ask Profumo

About pillow talk

And what it means to grease a palm

With silver

Poor old Stephen Ward

A very British suicide

When Barbiturate

Was as dirty a word as Fentanyl

Jet planes break down barriers

And rock the world

With their precision

Over the racetrack

Where carbon offsets

Are racing through the park

Making grand prix of themselves

Circling pointlessly

Going nowhere

Quickly