Big Soc. It To Me
I am the Big Society
As vacuous as ash,
A dose of petty piety
While we are strapped for cash:
My voice is made of mimicry,
My muscles of veneer,
My lips of wholesale gimmickry.
My substance? No idea.
I call myself Philanthropy:
You'll gather round me, shall you?
But I'm the great misanthrope
And I possess no value.
I am a slogan, brief, inane,
Coined by someone keen,
But utterly without a brain.
I don't know what I mean.
Suppose you wish to start a school,
Or hospital, or vet's,
The Big Society says Cool -
Bring pupils, patients, pets,
And organise the whole bang shoot.
We think you'll find it cheaper.
The Bible has some words to suit:
Am I my brother's keeper?
The Big Society contains
A most expressive void,
Yet runs the blood-cells through the veins
Of all the unemployed.
It's visible as wi-fi
And not of bricks or mortar:
It's like the Big Chief I-Spy
And his Wigwam-By-The-Water.
Yes, I'm the Big Society,
A feeble, forceless fable
With no vim or variety
But one great trestle table:
You put it up, you celebrate,
You roast a local pig,
But find Society, too late,
Is anything but Big.
