Hating Tories

The End of the End of Austerity

Sajid Javid MP

It's the end of the end of austerity
Can you believe the temerity?
Sajid has said
That his promise is dead
But the few will retain their prosperity

"Austerity no more" is no more
The previous promise ignored
The election is done
And the Tories have won
And the rule of the market is law

Nowhere to Hide

Tory win

I contemplated emigrating
or moving out of town
I'd spend my weekends walking dogs
my weekdays knuckling down

My grandmother was Scottish and
my great-grandma a Jew
And while some borders still stay down
perhaps they'll let me through

Or I could hump my tucker bag
and pitch up in Australia
(Though on that points-based entry test
I'd probably score a failure)

Imaginary Poetic Justice

Imagine if every time someone died
on an NHS waiting list
A scar appeared on
the skin of a Tory MP

If every time an MP failed to turn up
to an inconveniently-arranged appointment
They were sanctioned
​their state handouts stopped

Imagine if every time a person went to a food bank
a Tory MP had to go too
Not for a photo opportunity
but because the cupboard was empty

Homage to Hospitals

All hail to public hospitals
Which treat us at no cost at all
Come forth and heed the homage call
Give thanks and praise

Admire their shiny corridors
The wonder drugs in well-stocked stores
And colour-coded wings and floors
And curtained bays

Where patients' injuries are healed
By specialists in every field
Equipment-laden trolleys wheeled
In urgency

Scales of Injustice

Pick up the leaflet
pick up a pen
Rate on a scale of nil to ten
how broken is your heart
how much your life is rent apart
Rate your mental state
Is it three or six or eight?

Rate on a scale of nil to ten
Where nil is
I don't give a toss about them'
And ten is
'I'll never feel intact again'

GlastonTory

They sleep in mansions instead of tents
They never scale the perimeter fence
There's high-class bogs for the ladies and gents

Only the rich elite may come
Get orf their land, you common scum
Tarquin's squiffy on a shot of rum

So tell us a true-blue campfire story
It's better than bloody Jackanory
The tales that are told of GlastonTory

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