Once
he gladly roared
in London

that the British
punctured everything
before their empire was done

Feedback
as he said it
hammered that home 

A battery banging 
amplified the wonder
of such bold speech

Shame indeed but no real surprise
when he tired of saying and playing 
such things

As his voice became
half-brother to money
he gave up the roar for the croon

Trembling not shaking
Trickling not draining
Brokering not storming

Choosing to grip
a softer weapon and sing
softer songs

on a worldwide tour
of the former British colonies
he referred to as a “career retrospective” 

Lying awake each night
nightmaring Joe Strummer and a gaggle of nuns
standing silent by the hotel door

Staring at him
while mouthing and mocking
his old-time roar