Mother May

A Poem by Maxwell Ryder

Written 16 March 2017

No tears for Brexiteers,
quips Mother May
I play on your fears;
"We will go it alone,"
She says, weighing
All of ten stone,
"We shall not be
alone; stuff your
Summit at Rome."
We have the Scots,
We have the throne;
We have Corbyn
To make Tories atone;
Football for the bits
And bobs, and beer
after in the pubs;
And Northern Ireland
For champions of golf;
And there's always
Trump for a laugh,
But John Thomas
won't hang around
very long -
his twig and berries
Have fallen arse
Over tit,
Lookin for a pint
Of wit
On his favorite
Forum, Twitter.