I am George, I’m drop-dead gorgeous,
your lucky uncle, changing tack –
not the member of the Borgias:
here’s your pocket-money back.
Like all forgers, I am smiling
the quiet rictus of magicians –
all the while I am beguiling
with my little trick positions.
You’re compiling dossiers
of how I saved you all from ruin –
see me in this sudden haze?
Nothing doing; I’m a shoo-in.
If you gaze into the crystal,
drifting far away from thought,
you may spot the canny fiscal
stunt I’ve pulled. I’ve caught you short:
flick of wrist’ll hide my theft –
any answers? Any offers?
I think you’ll find there’s NOTHING LEFT
in your local council coffers.