Pinocchio’s clone sits on Labour throne,
Polishing his nose, now that it is grown.
Last left vestiges thrown over prams edge,
Slowly, one by one, pledge by pledge by pledge,
Discarded easily as old child’s toy,
Doing what he’s told, a cynical ploy.
Silence now golden, keeps out of the way,
Goes up in the polls, says less every day.
Draped in shadows, it is safer back there,
Keep powder dry, no more devil may care.
Don’t try hard to win, move quick in your shoes,
Watch Rishi and Liz help Tories to lose.
This Starmer secret? No manifesto.
Nowt said? Into number ten, hey presto!
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 29th August 2022