A Poem

1. Gordon Brown
Sat down
and started to talk.
His eyes spanned the room
pupils pierced the gloom,
but with his first vowel, began to balk.
2.
“Bloody Tories”
he muttered, stories
That gave away their cowardice
like one he spoke
crying Camerons toke
on jazz cigarette of cannabis.
3.
“Why not heroin
or eyeball tonic and gin
not weed like a thug
if her were any sort of man
a jean claude van dam man
he’d do a real drug.”
4.
Relieving jacket,
PM reached for his pocket
removing a syringe from its pack
at first he couldn’t find it
tongue searching mind; “it’s
like looking for a needle in a hay stack”
5.
Piercing the skin,
fresh smack rushed in
Gordon’s eyeballs started to roll;
relief spread through him,
lips lifted in grin
and from his chair his body did fall.
6.
The room fell silent,
and eyes fell violent,
upon this most outrageous crime;
what brown had forget
about the brown he had got
was that it was prime minister’s question time.
Bookmark
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • De.lirio.us
  • email
  • StumbleUpon
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
This entry was posted in Blogs, Poetry, The Blog Part, Things I Have Done and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.

Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *

*
*

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>