The Weekly Poem

I am not going to rhyme Farage with garage

Dear Nigel, let me say that, with your perfect persiflage,

It isn’t hard to see that they will vote for you, your trilby,

And that your new majorities will be this side of large.

Que sera, dear Nigel. Whatever will be, will be.

You’ll slice through huge majorities like hot knives cutting butter.

But all the same I’d hate you living next door. You’re a nutter.

Dear Nigel, and I say this with no touch of rage or rancour,

I wouldn’t touch your party with a pole that helps a barge:

When all is said, you’re just a gap-gog former merchant banker,

With a smile that seems like butter when it’s really dodgy marge.

You know that you are really a true saloon bar bore.

I couldn’t live next door to you. That should be made a law.

Yes you are articulate, and take a sucker punch:

Yes you think that Europe is an island off our coast –

You’ll get more votes than anyone expects, that is my hunch,

But there is more to politics than beer and Sunday Roast.

Good luck with flouting Tories and Lib Dems and even Labour.

I’m sure that you will do it. But I’d loathe you as a neighbour.