As They Sing For Our Troubles Poem by Mark Heathcote

We all hammock between two political parties
Swaying, side to side; as they sing for our troubles
Blowfish, blowing bubbles; they're-filthy harpies
-In branches without roots, yes, we're in their clutches
Each one of us is toeing a line of their rhetoric
Each one puts their own, cross in that ballot box
Hoping the sun stays warmish, somewhat mesmeric
Blind—can't anyone see during each new, Equinox?
The changing of the guard carries no real power
Each is just a puppet moon controlling a sea-tide
Between two shores that never alter or empower
Centre they sit polar north & south, satisfied.
Whoever rules for them, it doesn't have to matter
Long as people are trussed-up in wire mesh hammocks
It rains down the thunder, or they're rising to scatter
Like autumn leaves, we're all drained by these maggots.