I saw a mouse one day step boldly ‘neath the feet
of ministers of state, hard by that symbol of Imperial Power
not wielded literally since days of rumbunctious japes
and principled resignations.
“Where goest thou?” I said,
“The other place – the Woolsack is more cosy, and
I like the smell of camphor from the bishops’ knees.
I need not knock, like Black Rod, but gain entry
via death watch beetle street, to see the fun.
For soon, lifelong ambitions will be revealed,
and Charlie Three will stand and say it as it is:
‘You bastards, one and all, have messed up good and proper
The time has come to break the mould, and give you all the chopper.
Me and Cam will do the job without the need for MPs, Lords or Ladies.
You can pack up now, and go back home, but clear out all the empties’ “
Refer to: Poet Laureate for a day
A mouse in the house! What a splendid
tailBut, OFF WITH HIS HEAD!
You’ve written a cracker there Bill. You’ll be for it!
Thanks for your comments. What a strange place we are in. The very institution which should have its wings clipped stands as the last remaining protector of the common Jack and Jill!
Hear, hear. Well done sir.
I’m so overwhelmed by the effusive accolades from this critical hotbed, that I have embarked on a massive project, “The Waistband”, exploring all the intimate details of my life from imaginings in the womb to anticipation of the tomb, via snogging in Sefton Park and jogging in Mersey Road. Watch this space!