Canst tell me, how fit is this butchers dog?
Eats scraps and trimmings of beef, sheep and hog,
Overfed heavy cur, can’t jump a log,
Sling him off a cliff, same as Gogmagog.
Another fortnight now squirreled away,
Ignore news media, tweet night and day,
Fat orange golfer has shewn him the way,
Don’t answer questions, faff, bluster, and play.
Buy time with new spads locked down in bunker,
Zoom hot and cold as enemies hunker,
Sack all and sundry, such a strong junker,
Quaff drafts of power, lurch ever drunker.
Hoards of people still say “He’s such a card!”,
In truth his new normal’s too fucking hard.

Harry Rogers, in the red bedroom, 16th November 2020