Politrix

As I lay me down to sleep 
I find it difficult to keep

my thoughts in order, want to weep,

but know I’m in it far too deep

to warrant standing on straight land.

Yes, it’s by my own conniving,

cadging votes while always striving

after contacts, bent on thriving

where the high-ups go on driving

home the point of each one’s brand.

I cast aside the things that matter,

turn to daily in-house chatter,

rattle out the worst of patter

to heap the Party’s utter splatter

on those whose benefits got canned.

Neat as nous my skirt and jacket

when my turn comes round to smack it

hard to bench-flops, so I whack it

ever onwards. Balls! They track it,

note my script runs like the sand.

Undeterred, I dribble forwards,

stuffing time crop-full with more words

till the Speaker claws me floorwards;

snatched back from my soaring core words,

please don’t think that I’ve been panned.

I know why I’m tossing sleepless;

dread those thoughts that wander keepless

down my brain. I would weep less

if they hadn’t sunk so deep.”Less,”

they groan, “O, less, she’s out of hand.”

Caricature of Theresa May by Christopher Sharrock ©