In Downing Street a soucouyant sucks blood
From people already almost bled dry.
Matters not to her that we break and cry,
For in her chest beats cold heart of iron.
There in her lair we can find neither care,
Nor succour for those trapped by her actions.
Her party, split into warring factions,
Now torn asunder as she boldly rants
Her newly learned, ill prepared, platform script.
There is already a strong whiff of change,
As wannabes parade indecently
Across fringe meetings with “Look at me mum”
Speeches designed to promote their talent.
Crisis? What crisis? Election soon comes.

Harry Rogers in the Yellow Room, 5th October 2022.