The Continental Dogs Breakfast.
If I may say, I saw a sad picture in the news,
This Ms. May, I wouldn’t wish to be in her shoes,
Standing, down, a teardrop trickling from her eye,
The poor choked-up about to be ex-PM says bye-bye.
She gave it her diplomatic best
But her eloquence less than impressed;
Those long impassioned speeches she made,
Until told her welcome’s been long overstayed.
As Theresa turns her back on Number Ten
Ruing that she cannot be all things to all men
She shoulders her heavy baggage and I do believe
At last, friends and neighbors, Theresa’s going to leave.
No more trying on duplicitous deals,
No more clickety-clackety high heels,
No Theresa power walking Parliaments halls,
May has gone, and briefly, blessed silence falls.
A moment of contemplation as Tess departs,
Then the fighting for the Tory leadership starts,
What worthy will fill the shoes of the old dame?
Could another bouffanted blonde stake his claim?
Poor Theresa May is finding this leaving lark tough,
Trump is coming a’calling just when Boris calls her bluff,
Boris’ untimely and boorish approach she should rebuff-
She ain’t no bloody Boadicea, but she’s made of stern stuff-
But she is oh so tempted to hand it to that tousle-haired scruff.
Let Bo take the tiny hand that slithers from the silken cuff,
A pedicured pampered hand, yet a touch… course and rough,
Let them bond over common interests; trade, markets, dandruff?
But Tess does know one red white and blue bastard is quite enough,
So she’ll smile, lie and try to think of England and not stalk off in a huff.
This entry was posted in
Black humor, Brexit, Desire, Donald Trump, England, hair, humor, poetry, Politics, satire, Theresa May, Uncategorized, verse, weltshmertz on . July 11, 2018
Who gave Theresa May such bad advice?
Nick and Fiona will pay the heavy price.
Though it;s true Theresa did not QUITE lose
There’s few who want to be in their shoes.
Two close advisors plotted her course;
Two total asses on their high horse.
They advised Theresa the way to win
Wasn’t to enter debate but woodenly grin.
So the Conservatives have them to thank
For a leader with the charisma of a plank.
Their clever strategy told voters they should
Vote for a woman rendered as dumb as wood.
Somehow a pyrrhic victory has been won
And the portioning of blame has begun.
Her gruesome twosomes long term plan
Has turned out short-sightedly myopian.
Their bone-headed blundering beyond dispute
They’re walking before they get Theresa’s boot.
Seven weeks ago Theresa May had it all;
Now, along with Don, its backs to the wall.
She puts up a a brave front because she’s painfully aware
Of all the toe tapping Tories waiting to kick HER derriere.
This entry was posted in
British election, Donald Trump, Fiona Hill, Nick Timothy, humour, poetry, Politics, satire, Theresa May, Uncategorized, verse on . June 12, 2017
The sun rose bold and bright
After Great Britain’s polling day,
But all was not sweetness and light
In the Household of Theresa May.
As the race closed, Tess’s face pinched tight
when she saw the vote wasn’t going her way,
This poor PM looked a sad and sorry sight;
Ms May looked the very personification of dismay.
But who can she blame for her present plight?
Her once sunny future is looking grimly grey,
Who turned out to prove she was wrong- and Right?
Those Left, the hoi poloi, Corbyn’s oh-so common clay.