Polling Day
I watched the way you fogged up
our front room, filling the ash trays
and drinking dad’s whisky,
(when it wasn’t even Christmas).
I heard the way you wrote off the
opposition; Labour, the crook; Liberal,
the nancy; and little Mark’s dad,
not just a communist, but a teacher.
I noted the way you wheezed; came
and went as you pleased; stuck up
posters in our front window;
Committee Room; Vote for Kay;
I saw the way you laid your plans
over our dinner table; ruling lines
through entire households,
after I’d surrendered the numbers.
John Kay was born in Bury and now works in Bournemouth. Winner of poetry competitions. Represented in anthologies and poetry magazines. One volume of poetry, It Wouldn’t Do, 2008.