There’s no glory, morning or otherwise,
Only Tories spinning out alibis.
On local news Liz digs her hole deeply,
Costs heading north rise ever more steeply.
Language bamboozles uninitiates,
In truth a monster has vaulted their gates.
In courtyard below chickens run headless,
Attack dogs released, shoot from lips wreckless,
Chancellor’s trousers ripped out and threadless,
Number ten strangled by Thatcher’s necklace.
Property owning democracy fails,
House prices crash as young mortgagees wail.
In City shorters spur on recession,
Monster scales tower, deepens depression.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 29th September 2022