Someone said there could be a Hung Parliament.
Someone else said ‘Who shall we string up first?’
The warmonger Blair or the liars,
the money-grabbers or the thieves,
the gamblers or the swindlers,
the bleeders or the cheats?
The con-men in the background? Men in black?
Spin-artists, brain-washers and blackmailers?
Or the handful of token females who crept around or simpered
with those feeble and spineless Yes-Men in their wake,
eyes only on a place in some future Cabinet?
To whom shall we grant a pardon?
Who shall we parade and proudly honour
for their brave forthrightness and their honesty?
(Answers on a postcard please, but don’t all rush).
Or shall I see you at the polling station,
an eager pencil in your hand,
itching just to make your little mark
to the Left or to the Right
or even in some real or just-imagined,
one-time-believed-in-and-hoped-for Middle Way?
As if there was a choice.
As if you had a voice.
They’re having a laugh aren’t they?