Prime Ministers come and go,

just as England football managers

arrive and depart,

in failure,

in ignominy,

own goals, let down badly

by the team or driven man

with the lust for power

and glory.

The conveyor belt, unceasingly

brings along the next unsuitable candidate,

the fresh hope, wit and the beaming smile;

things will change,

I am sure,

under them.

 

The roar of the Wembley crowd,

replaced by time and poor results

for the hatred bestowed

upon black door number ten,

interchangeable, no width,

dogmatic, and both

rounded upon with equal hand rubbing

gesture which makes the current incumbent

look ill, old and worn out

one big game into the job;

I would not take up either position,

I would let the post remain vacant,

for I wouldn’t want the press

calling me snide names

just because I refused to send men

to a war or players without passion

onto the pitch.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016