Ron's rages are sincere and — according to his wife — healthily cathartic. But can these splenetic outbursts loosen the grip of capitalism at its most monstrous?
Yarl’s Wood
Clare Pollard
You want a minute of not being
wired to watch out? A tray with tea,
the children playing: hushed, happy?
The touch of kind hands, family;
a little money, security?
Why not come to Yarl’s Wood
to be taken care of?
We know that you’re restrained,
a modest housewife in her burka,
but the dark is wet with torture
and you’re emptied out by fear -
brave the plane, the gate, the wait,
get yourself sent to Yarl’s Wood
to be taken care of.
by Rosie Jackson
ANDY CROFT welcomes the publication of an anthology of recent poems published by the Morning Star, and hopes it becomes an annual event
by Clare Evans
WILL STONE relishes the chance to hear the Isle of Wight indie sensation in an intimate setting


