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So Long, Farewell So long, farewell, Keir Starmer, failed First Lord Of Britain's Treasury. Your fraught two years, Less thirteen days, in office underscored Outstanding technocratic skill appears Not helpful as PM. Your promise—we'd Get change—was good: you're quite beyond compare For U-turns. But you droned, and couldn't read A room like Andy B, whose jaunty air Replaces your solemnity, and you Erred most by taking charge beneath Big Ben Without a plan we'd buy—just like the new Executive-in-chief at Number Ten ... Long tenure, Andy B? Don't undersell— Lest, two years hence, you hear: So long, farewell! (First published in Light on 29th June, 2026 as one of the Poems of the Week. Story here) |
Tiny Spatchcock The wealthy London diner has a grouse: It's that he hasn't. Mayfair's cooking pot Needs game birds flying at the country house, Yet this year's birds are finding it too hot. Since Twelfth of August, when the shoot began, Plush restaurants have struggled to secure A tiny spatchcock for the wealthy man To boast his dinner's fresh from upland moor. Chefs, quailing at lost profits, might reflect: How many socialites, when plied with wine, Can tell grilled grouse from spatchcocked mice, bedecked— Once tails have been removed—with superfine Concoctions of bread sauce? ... Throughout the shoot, Keep mousetraps handy for a substitute! (First published on 24th August, 2026 in Oddball Magazine. Story here) |
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