Shall I compare thee to Theresa May?
She is a ship of self deception, littering
Her promises of wealth and health and no delay
With no more substance than a winter’s glitter.
As winds blow frozen thoughts from Arctic shores,
She’ll force her cheeks into a rictus grin
And wait, assume a pose for rapt applause
From party faithfuls.
She cannot win
While mothers have no money left for food,
Teachers work until they cannot think
Doctors give their final pints of blood,
Frail and disabled hide, all hope extinct.
You, in this filthy corner, wrapped in rags
With nothing in your life but plastic bags.
With apologies to Shakespeare