Category: poetry

Dickens might’ve written him
The people ain’t forgiven him
And here he is
Large as lives
Blunt as knives
Doesn’t care who lives or dies
Has important meetings
And you’re keeping him from eating
He’s only gonna give you up ‘til lunch

Dickens might’ve written him
Cameron permitted him
And here he is
Large as death
Of wicked heft
Foul contempt upon his breath
Too important to be here
Which he’s making very clear
You’ll not stop him leaving for his lunch

Dickens might’ve written him
The truth has still not bitten him
And here he is
Large as prayers
Cold as cares
Dare scrutinise his affairs
His shield of importance
Bearing dents from this performance
Looks like he’s gonna have to miss his lunch

Pickles is late for his lunch
As his tummy rumbling
Testy testimony testifies
He doesn’t really care who dies
It’s a numbers game
With minions to blame
And so long as business
Can do business
Unimpeded by the need
To keep folk safe
From corporate greed
He’ll be grand
Baron, as he is
Of this green and pleasant land

Pickles is late for his lunch
And he doesn’t care
For this line, laying bare
His disregard for public safety
When the job’s to shrink the state
He’s totally on board
The reward
A seat in the Lords
Where there’s Wednesday prayers
For billionaires

Pickles is late for his lunch
And ready to bail
He’s late for his tucker
Let’s chuck the fucker
In jail