Politics: The New Olympic Sport

It is a blanket stitch-up action game

In which jumping without a parachute

Is the prominent future

 

No-one is expected to survive the land.

 

It is a guessing-game of telling tales and masking truth

A Call my Bluff involving desperate consequentials

Is all about destroying mended fences

 

Setting the people free, whether the people needed

 

It’s a guarantee and a jamboree for sinking ships

Displayed on a graph sequentially as national income

The dippy scoff at the dips diagrammatically reshaping

 

Tired pauper action trips to buffered trading zones

 

Here is a coin the currency in this trading game

It is of no value, it offers substantively no gain

It has no name

 

And no-one in charge presumes to lend it any weight

 

The name of the game in play: legerdemain inflation

Being subtitled: parade of bland stagnation

Prices are rising chasing unsurprising borrowing

 

On a dead-end street called ‘queer’

 

There’s rigmarole, and there’s much grey-suited mock confession

And bags of comforting unwarranted delusion

There’s certainly no solution

 

Being diligently, elegantly, sought for

 

There’s a host of squandered aces, vegetable talk

Being made the most of by the best designer libel folk

That’s all there is

 

All’s fudge

 

No-one has grip to clasp, no proper competence to grasp

A plan; no aptitude, dysfunction, semi-lassitude,

Resolves not one fragile slice of pumpernickel sandwich

 

A complete and hand-made handbag-fisted brass disaster

Gone over the top warfare with only sticking plaster

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