In place of a church baptism you get
a poky office in Brixton Town Hall,
no Holy Water poured, just an ink jet

printing your official names in full.
You’re in the system now, there’s no escape,
your first tax year will arrive on schedule

in sixteen years from now, no-one can wipe
a tainted record clean, but just remember
some aspects of your life won’t yield to type,

you can’t be crunched if you are not a number.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Jun 14, 2012 @ 00:13:26

    You should throw a naming party…or get a pentameter of poets to write poems for Rosy and drink vast quantities of wine and beer in her honour…this would be much more real than some dreary religious mumbo jumbo.

    I like the idea that they register you just to tax you.


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