Maybe the season of party conferences in the UK is making me think of politicians, maybe the training courses I am currently delivering are so closely related to presentation and rhetorical skills. Whatever the reason, my poetry is becoming more political lately.
Ends each phrase with telling whine.
He’s now a child of southern
Comforts, tongue and race.
He talks of market values,
Absorbs, merges and expands
With each anecdote.
The money guzzles through his fingers
Thrown at walls in attempt to stick,
Be memorable, be different.
As army of wealth-merchants have him on drip.