Brexit Sonnet No.8 – ‘ ‘Tis Poison ‘

Our fridge is full of surfeits, sad and left,
Our appetite now sickened, but not yet dead.
The answer for remains, our thoughts bereft.
Perhaps some mustard with a little bread?
Likewise our Brexit dish, now pulled apart,
With prime cuts gone to tables set on high.
Just crumbs beneath and off cuts of jam tart,
Our cherished trickledown theory gone awry.
So clear your fridge of broken Brexit brunch,
Be creative with those Brussel sprouts,
And cook us up a proper roasted lunch,
With nothing gone to waste and no left outs.
‘True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings’,
But Brexit meal, ’tis poison that this brings.

©Keith Murphy