House of Commons Lunch By Terry Ireland

Politicians soup they called it Very clear and very thin Like those election promises No substance to put in And it was fed to the people And while they lived on that The snouts at the trough Waxed exceedingly fat And when the feast was over They didn't seem to know There is a kind of grace In knowing when to go They stayed and milked the menu Until the last bitter end For when you've stuffed your fill You've no need of a friend And every now and then They spared a little titter For the poor and the lonely, The cheated and the bitter For now they've had their fill Of the honey and the milk They can rest in plenty With others of their ilk

Copyright Terry Ireland 2009

This poem can also be read on iPoetry, the poetry app for the iphone/ipod touch available on the Apple iTunes App Store.

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