Like mice on picket lines, I have a squeak:
A grievance built on blood and circumstance.
And though I'm blessed with quite the coward's streak
I'll raise my voice and praise each small advance.
For bridges are not built now by the weak
(I hear they're funded by Arts Council Grants)
And though you fear the mischief we may wreak
I think you should give poetry a chance.
There's nothing we can do to change your mind
Unless we write a sonnet or sestina.
Verbosity's the only way to find
The truth in each political arena.
When we say, “Politician, heal thyself!”
Power: it’s all about the clout of wealth.