'' Asleep, In A Chair '' Poem by Bri Mar

The word, politician,
Is hard to define,
In their latest edition,
They'll claim, all is fine,
On a devious mission,
To undermine,
Their untruths can be hard to bear.

In the main they are thick,
Yet, pretend to be wise,
Every box they tick,
Turns out to be lies,
Though they make us all sick,
It's us they chastise,
For deceit they do have a flair.

Arrogant and conceited,
Rogues and thieves,
They will not be defeated,
It's us one relieves,
When they're deleted,
Every one of them grieves,
They go into a state of despair.

We give them the tools,
To distort the truth,
When breaking their rules,
They are never uncouth,
They act like fools,
When summoned to the booth,
Their expenses they fail to declare.

Though enemies together,
They assist each other,
They go for a blether,
The truth to smother,
At the end of our tether,
They are sister and brother,
Humility among them is rare.

As their coffin draws near,
They will still cross swords,
Up goes the cheer,
They then get their rewards,
More subsidised beer,
And a seat in the lords,
For life,

‘' Asleep, In A Chair ‘'