How many Mr Brookes there are
Upon the benches green, no star
With real passion burns, to light
The dreary chamber’s gloom. No knight,
No wondrous Ladislaw speaks out.
Observe the dull, entitled bore
Repeating points he’s made before,
Contemptuous, he must ignore
His manifesto pledges, shout
About his greater intellect
Which means the demos must respect
The crap he speaks, else why elect
Him, not some other local lout?
And here is female vast conceit
She represents an old,safe seat
And feels her mission’s to defeat
Those whom she ‘represents’. No doubt
Has ever filled her head, her mind
Has never questioned aught, she’s blind,
Unteachable, untaught, she feels
And feeling does instead, reveals
Her ‘greater’ human heart. She seals
Our doom, knows not what she’s about.