Clowns
Every few years we get the chance,
stroll down the road,
tick another box or two,
decide which toad
will screw us over for the next few,
break promises so easily made,
take junkets too,
raid our wallets with glee,
those well-dressed few
who spew smug platitudes and see
no shame in cat-calls, insults, petty
parliamentary
games – he said, she said. Lice!
You disgust me,
you clowns for whom we pay the price.
George Fripley writes poetry and fiction, and blogs on whatever comes to mind at anothergrumpycommuter.wordpress.com. He has had a handful of poems published as well as a satirical manual for the civil servant. He lives in Perth, Western Australia. he blogs about ‘ordinary people from history’ here: dregsofhistory.blogspot.