Election Night…

Only a few more days to prevent the election of a majority Tory Government led by the most disloyal, dishonest, politician we’ve had in the UK in modern times.

It’s looking like there will be a lot of people celebrating on Friday morning. I wonder, once the realities of this Government and their Brexit ‘deal’ set in (remember they’ve done as much as they can to avoid real scrutiny), how many will still be waving their flags a year from now…

Anyway, here’s a poem about what threatens to be a depressing state of affairs. It’s called Election Night.

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Election Night…

Exit poll…..

The Tory’s have won.

Smashed it.

Returned a majority.

Boris is King.

Flags can be waved.

Rule Britannia can be sung.

Brexit can be done.

~

They sit in their Tower.

The one you helped build.

Power held, deepened, widened.

Puppet masters happy.

They toast the unwashed.

~

Donald phones.

Reminds them of ‘their deal’.

~

Putin phones.

Reminds them of ‘their deal’.

~

Murdoch phones.

Reminds them of ‘their deal’.

~

Joe Public phones.

Reminds them of ‘their deal’.

Oh, how they laughed.

~

They are laughing…

~

At you!

~

Maggie phones, from beyond the grave.

Reminds them of their duty.

As protectors of the few.

~

Andrew Neil phones.

They hide under the table,

put fingers in their ears.

~

They settle down in glory.

Drink their vintage champagne.

~

The champagne you bought.

As FOUR MILLION children live in poverty.

~

In turn they state their mantra.

The one that guides them in their dark.

~

“The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist”.

~

Glasses raised.

~

Job done.

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