The British Dream

Aah right, so it's such a funny phrase, I just thought, what would a British dream be ...

THE BRITISH DREAM

I had the British dream as I laid siege to a ruined castle
On a wind-begotten cliff top on the Diamond Jubilee.
I dreamt I saw the miners marching round the town in circles
Throwing Davy lamps at windows as they sang ‘Don’t You Want Me’.
My legs were hot and heavy as I fled the British doctors
Giving tea and toast to save me from my un-British disease,
I saw the ghosts of empire building monuments to slavery
Etching, just beneath the surface, sweet and scant apologies.
My British dream returned me to a car I could not steer straight
As it pulled up to a Spitfire on an urban roundabout.
I braced my bitter limbs for the slowest of collisions
With the memory of a hero I could scarce have done without.
I saw the British nightmare coming ‘cross the open water
And I built a wall so quickly, but left out the bottom bricks.
My Irish name condemned me, on the pretext of collusion -
This, for once, a situation nepotism couldn’t fix. 
My English vowels escaped me when the prison yard tormentors
Could and would not be persuaded I might be their inside man.
By now, I had expected that a youthful leap could save me
But my legs were still so heavy and I had no other plan.
I had a British dream but could not shape a happy ending
From the mess of godless visions I allowed to run the night.
My eyes now would not open to the colours of the morning,
And I resigned, trapped in the dream, to see just black and white.