The (Other) Keir Hardie Tea-Towel

Keir Hardie
was dapper
His nickname was 'Papa'
He took PE and games
His illustrious name
Was his  grandad's
It cut no ice with the lads
Of Marr College
Our political knowledge
Was zero
An old Labour hero
Meant nothing in Troon
We preferred Gordon Broon
(Not the politician
The rugby tactician
Always full of good cheer
And possibly some beer
But that was back in the day
When Scotland could play)

Today, I saw something foul
A Keir Hardie tea towel
Highly absorbent
Signed by Jeremy Corbyn
£100, it's on offer
To replenish Labour's coffers
And briefly I wondered
If someone had blundered
And my old schoolmaster
In a PR disaster
Was now drying plates
With a screen print of his face

Which would have been quite a story
Because I suspect 

Papa was a Tory...

A Wee Political Domestic

It seems nobody loves me

But you and the SNP

I know you’re quite particular

But I’m not sure about Nicola

Our relationship was full of promise

But in her e-mails she calls me ‘Thomas’

She never uses ‘Tom’ or ‘Tommy’

She's always wanting money from me

Her or that Peter Murrell

I'm not inclined to quarrel

But they don’t seem to remember

It’s six months since I was a member

At least you know how to say my name

And married life is pretty much the same

I cook your breakfast, lunch and tea

Although politically we disagree

About the basics of independence

We both hate the binary nature of referendums

(Although some say the plural’s ‘referenda’)

I detest everything about Eastenders

You never miss a single show

But there’s one thing we both know

One unifying truth we’ve been absorbed in

Neither of us can abide Jeremy Corbyn

That romantic, 1970s pseudo-Marxist

That deluded, arrogant  narcissist 

Who’ll destroy the Labour Party, given time

I don’t know why you’ve not resigned

But where would you go then?

You ask how I can defend

The posturing hypocrisy

Of the governing SNP

Navigating a road to ruin

When there’s so much they could be doing?

Truth is, I'm no starry-eyed student

And I wouldn't.

As for  the Greens and the Lib Dems

No-one gives two Tweets about them

And their fantasies of power and glory

Don’t even mention the Tories

Who - some of my best friends fear -

Could be in power for the next 15 years

Even in a free, but utterly defiled

Caledonia, turned stern, once mild

Oh, it’s a crisis, all right; but let’s not make it a domestic drama

We both like Homes under the Hammer

And though, largely, I favour secession

We need to wait for a proper recession 

When London house prices start falling

And the Trotskyist Hampsteaders start calling

Estate agents in Wick

Saying: 'Buy me a shooting lodge, quick'

And Dion Dublin's advice

Is that Thurso is nice

I know, I know. It's a fantasy

Fuelled by daytime TV

So let's not argue, please

Have some more toast and cheese

Crowdie for me, and  Cheddar for you

Camembert or Rauchkässe would do

Cambozolo, Weisslager, 

Queso Cabrales or Limburger

Manchego, Roquefort, or Mimolette

At least Brexit hasn't happened yet

For National Poetry Day: The Brothers Corbyn - An Historical Tribute In Verse

They lived at Yew Tree Manor

An aristocratic name

So the Yew Tree Guesthouse

It became

David and Naomi 

Jeremy and Piers

Did bed and breakfast

For years and years

Bohemian and radical

Naomi rode a scooter

And used old Guardians

As draft excluders

Piers became an expert

In meteorology

But the world of politics 

Called him and Jeremy

In the Labour Party

Jeremy had sympathy

For his brother, his friend Tariq

And other members of the IMG

That’s the International Marxist Group

By the way

Jeremy was never a member

Or so they say

Jeremy became an MP

For North Islington in London

Waitroses. Marxists.

They have an abundance

Piers bet against

The Met Office. His predictions

Were sometimes accurate

Sometimes fiction

Skipping ahead: Now

Jeremy’s Labour leader

“Theresa May?” He snorts

“I will defeat her.” 

Climate change, meanwhile

Piers denies

All contra-indications

Are mistakes or lies

Believers

They were brought up believing

Evidence and proof

Are always deceiving 

So Piers and Jeremy

Together

Still battle the class enemy

One predicts the weather

One predicts the future

One has a beard

And that would be Jeremy

These days. Not Piers

Copyright Scar Quilse 2016. All rights reserved