Poem #63

The year is 2020,

And we’re past the age of plenty;

Our Brexit we have scuppered

And our trade deal’s in the gutter;

Streets froth with violent hooligans

Who loved the European Union.

 

May submits her resignation-

Boris now will rule the nation.

And as we face grim indigence,

He suggests we all stay vigilant:

Cloak your purse and hide your wallet

(Police cuts mean we won’t find who stole it).

 

But the PM has a trick up his sleeve,

A ploy to get the masses back on Team Leave:

First, a trip abroad, to woo the ancient Nubian,

Followed by Britain’s application to the African Union.

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