Nowadays everything we do is on some file somewhere, our identity is increasingly compromised and our privacy constantly eroded. Big Brother is out to get us! This poem, written in May 2006 is a warning to us all.

THE FILING POLICE

The filing police are nasty
the filing police are bad
the filing police will find the thing
you wish you never had,
they’ll ask you lots of questions
they’ll make you want to squeal
you’ll wish you were an empty box
with nothing to reveal.

You’ll wish that you were someone else
you saw once in a dream.
not a tied up, tethered victim
of your private plans and schemes;
a toneless note that spins and fly’s
above the naked sky,
a neatly folded pile of clothes
a sight for the sore eye.

You’ll wish that you were someone else
a hero free of sin,
a careless note discarded
safely shredded in a bin,
a long forgotten record,
a box with nothing in.

You’ll wish that you were born too late
or never born at all,
a seeker of the Holy Grail,
a spot on Spot-the-ball,
a soul with gifted insight,
your mystery sublime,
you’ll wish you were the keeper
of the truth they couldn’t find.

The day that they come looking
after breaking down your door,
they’ll raid your store of memories
you laid out on your floor,
your dirty socks will lead them
to your one Achilles heel,
so be prepared to argue that
your memories are not real.

The filing police are nasty
the filing police are bad,
the filing police will find the thing
you wish you never had,
they’ll ask you lots of questions
they’ll make you want to squeal,
You’ll wish you were an empty box
with nothing to reveal.