Insult in the morning
Insult in the evening
Insult when the sun goes down.

At least that is what the thought police put around
Some damn right downtrodden verses from Dante
To get me to look up the skirt of some clouds and sexy rain
Thieves in the brain again looking for an angry allegory.

A world left behind by children not right in the brain
Schools advancing with the messages of loyal fathers
Straining again to meet with modernity
And the computers that prop up the economy.

That mobile phone is for me!
July was the month of buying some big fat fucking expenditure
Now I feel like I can face my old age with some dentures
If that’s the medical system in store for us all.

Keeping things furious with the space between me and the Royal Festival Hall
Life is never going to the same parks and playing so rough
When the swings keep women busy for the children growing up tough.
So be it then for conspiring to dress down on Fridays
When the wind if thought about is thinking of my day.

AI Summary

Your poem gathers its jagged humour, civic frustration, and private weariness into a single wandering voice that moves through insults, institutions, ageing, technology, and the strange theatre of public life, showing a speaker who feels watched and worn down yet still capable of biting satire; Dante becomes a joke about clouds, schools become relics trying to keep up with computers, a new phone becomes both burden and armour, and the city — from the Royal Festival Hall to the parks where children grow tough — becomes a backdrop for a mind that refuses to be domesticated, ending with that characteristic twist where even the wind seems to be thinking about the speaker’s day.