Coward, you claimed to represent something.
But look at the way you took Uxbridge,
Because you could not get Kensington;
Squeezing into a suburb the bloat
Of the Borison you were preaching:
A corrupted prayer, full of nothing,
Not even the Brexit that you placed
Your plan for economic cleansing on.
People who know me expect the writing
Of this poem. I have spent more words on you
Than on my lost love and parents; well,
Not quite, but enough. So, now,
May you fade having finally shown your true
Colours, for like the indicted Trump,
You sought power for power’s sake,
Through your bluff; a great pot-bellied pose
As you puffed cheeks and mumbled.
Are you anything else but the ego
Of an already dated cartoon? Not even those
Who worked with you know. Is it really
All an act, Alexander? A great attempt
At creation, or some sort of F for Art installation
Centred around a Pultroon? You represent
A fouled time. And look at what you presented.
Unpriti Patel. Dark Dom Cummings, and now
You have knighted Rees-Mogg! While sacrificing
Your Dad, who seems to be a bigger bugger
Than you are; chortling through the chaos
Of racist cant. Change one letter and we have
Both of you bound: bad bull-dogs. An observation
Which no doubt pleases you, with your Churchilling
Pretensions, not to mention the Shakespeare
That your gargle and swill and have spat
Onto the screen, over us. Branagh could not
Dignify it. So, step down and fall further.
Exit, pursued and stripped bare, prick and prat!
And something more insidious, too. Yes.
Of that I am certain. But then I say to the readers
And listeners of the frustrated lines I have spent;
Should he return to TV, or to print,
Then immediately take up knitting. Go for long walks.
Learn a language, or master a musical instrument.
But do not entertain and do not permit him
Forgiveness. The image is empty.
He is what we must not be. Sight can sour.
How much can you take or taste?
My verse vomits. But for him kind milk is madness
And even custard congeals. Nothing’s meant.
David Erdos 10/6/23
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