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Lonesome Georges

Poor George. Hear his soul start to hurtle
Into history’s vacuum and void.
He’s performed all the turns of a turtle:
Now his brain will be under-employed.

They’re talking of hiring embalmers,
To preserve him, but stifle the stench –
We’ll be able to gaze at his charm as
He’s propped up upon the front bench.

Now George has a singular pecker
But all loners must suffer their fates:
When you deal with the national exchequer
No-one’s prepared to be mates.

Having given his planning the hard-sell,
Poor George is considered a ghost:
Reduced to a terribly scarred shell,
As stiff as an old piece of toast.

Maybe they’ll make him a waxwork,
To hold future U-turns in check –
A reminder how not to make tax work,
A memento, alas, of his neck.

Click here for a story in The Guardian

Click here to buy Bill’s new poetry collection, Ringers

Lonesome Georges

A giant tortoise called George died in the Galapagos. Another George blew his credibility by performing another tax U-turn.

4 July 2012


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