Ode to Autumn 2022

Season of mists. Unregulated Truss
lights up the gloom of this autumnal fog,
concocts a brew designed to cause a fuss
-              a shot of Coffey, sprinkled with Rees-Mogg.
First sack that Treasury mandarin, who’s slow.
Ignore the windfalls. Pruning. Cut right back.
Remember DEFRA, sewage? Cut away,
and most of all the green stuff. Exit Zac.
Above all, let the Civil Service know
that bloody Oxford comma has to go.
The cost of living? No. Some other day.

Who hath not seen the aging Tory few
seething with anger at their man betrayed?
They fix on Liz, to start the charge anew
and build upon foundations he has laid.
No levelling down. Be clear it’s not a crime
to be in business. Peasants should give thanks.
And while for some this winter will be cruel
she will pay more to those who run the banks.
The harvest’s in, so watch those profits climb.
There will be bills for which there won’t be time –
environment, obesity, and fuel.

Where are the songs of Spring? You may well ask.
There’s nothing here that offers any hope
to youngsters, who confront a massive task.
Your average superhero couldn’t cope.
But in a wailful choir the MPs drone
unthinking loyalty, vote through each act
-              whatever Liz is, she is surely Right –
and now, before we know it, we’ve been fracked.
She knows that she can do this on her own;
she’ll stride ahead, imperious, alone
and send the trolls atwitter with delight.