Friday 22 March 2019

From the Bristolian Odes, Epigrams, and Further Sonnets

XXVII.
An Epsloot Tartar in his Dotage
“All you can see, this side the tree line down
The slope: mine. Twenty acres? Thirty? ... I
Forget …” Facsimile of perplexed frown.
We gaze across the paddocks. “I will die
Communing with my ornamental sheep.
By you to be sustained, shall our abode …”
His parasite had gone out in the jeep -
His carer found him wand’ring in the road.
Thus Ozymandias the king of kings
Bestrode once Warburgs and then Credit Suisse.
Increasingly oblivious of things,
Disintegrating piece by confused piece:

I found this hilarious Swiftian Modest Proposal on Twitter this morning, courtesy of someone calling him/herself Northern Variant

As a Labour MP, I'm often chased down the road by very vocal Labour supporters. I welcome this level of passionate engagement. It's ...