Decades & What the City Does For You

So post,
random,
random is post,
what?
Blair, oh my blood rushed,
fingers to the screen,
where recently he reappeared,
his brow ploughed,
his clipped adamance: war is real,
it's bloody happening.
He couldn't have known much about the last decade,
couldn't have possibly known
we'd ditched post without realising,
his platform a newish spoof,
whilst the focus group, and the cycle,
and its opinions unspooled.
So there's my vote,
it's Hanwell, 2001,
my sullen high street charm,
assuming post-race has bedded here, first
in the capital,
the test bed,
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna
be igno---ored,
for so long I sang,
for so long not knowing,
how little I knew about the decade before.