The Hustings Shuffle

Promises promised, but not to be kept –
They know it, we know it, and they know we know –
But it must be this way – it is what we expect.

Their promises come and their promises go –
We want to believe but we try to resist,
And say to ourselves that it’s only a show.

Their policies spin and their arguments twist –
We’re warned of the dangers their rivals equate –
Then hands must be shaken and babies be kissed.

We try to engage and we try to debate,
And try to remember it’s us who’s the boss,
Just looking for servants to tend to the state.

They beam out the smiles that they sharpen with floss,
They pose for our photos and laugh at our jokes,
And feel for our anger and pity our loss.

They tell us and tell us they’re average folks
From average backgrounds with average smarts,
Who love to get down with us ordin’ry blokes.

Beware their seductions, their flattering arts
That promise the world if our trust they may borrow –
We give up our votes and they crush our green hearts.

They leave us defiled and they show us no sorrow,
They love us today and they jilt us tomorrow.

The Only Poll That Matters

I wish I could urge you to vote with your hearts,
But alas, it’s all just a game –
It forces us each to the cynical arts
Of tactical voting and blame.
Supposing, just for the day,
We lost our hate, we lost our fear ?
Then, no matter who won, I say
The revolution would be here.
But until, don’t give them an inch –
Let’s make them guess and sweat and pinch,
And keep your ballot confidential,
Share it only with the pencil.
No rosettes and no balloons –
And lie, lie, lie to the pollsters’ goons.

Lightfast

All those old signs with dyes on the cheap,
That lose all their red in the face of the sun.
Once they were young and eager to help –
But now they are monochrome, caring for none.

I guess it was the ultraviolet
Wore them down with covert light –
One-by-one, it breaks their bonds,
Until they turn surrender-white.

But the blue signs, they are made diff’rently,
They’re made from more costly pigments and paint.
Why should they care if the sun’s so strong ?,
It bounces away with nary a taint.

For they were cast in ultraviolet,
Feeding on its flame and spite –
And then make sure that the sun is packed
With endless stocks of scorching light.

All those old signs, proud ‘turn left’ signs
Now they just point to the right.