declared that Blair had told a lie;
the war, he swore, was rightly crime;
our Tony should be doing time.
For, out to woo the Muslim vote,
Gorgeous Georgie changed his coat:
New Labour, so he loudly said,
has lost its way and now instead
of substance it has only spin
and hollow men who cannot win
the trust of those they’ve long betrayed
for deals they then denied they’d made.
Gorgeous Georgie, pie and pud,
has caused a stir each time he’s stood;
but now it seems, he’s made his point:
the times are truly out of joint.
© Abigail Wyatt
Abigail publishes poetry and short fiction. She lives in Redruth, Cornwall and performs her work at the Melting Pot, Krowji, The Unplugged Chameleon, St Ives, and The Be Spoken Word in Penzance.