BORISSING, or TESTS AND TASTE

BORISSING, or TESTS AND TASTE

Open your mouth and see the teeth strewn

like litter. The tongue is torn after tasting

Most of the lies they've expressed. Bile claims

The throat and the eyes are cloaked by dark

Message as the test of truth still bewilders,

As those setting each task can't confess.

That act is beyond them, I believe, 

As they obfuscate. Could they spell that?

And pimp and preen before cameras,

Or bluff and avoid like BJ. As his popularity

Sinks he still wears his Churchill mask through 

The sweating, while his Kim Kardashianed

Home Secretary continues to topple,

Or teeter on face spiking heels: kids at play.

They couldn't govern the beans on a breakfast

Plate, if toast told them. They would not know

How to lead us if Moses had left a text book.

Let alone all of those who supposedly provide

Their example; be they Winston, Adolph,

Or Margaret, whose fervour addicts them

And upon whose hate they are hooked. 'I hate

Identity Politics' Hancock camps, in reference

To the crits fired daily. As Trump sandbagged

The White House, so these suited toddlers

Tantrum. After all the false concern and

Pretence, they expect us now to be grateful,

But as the rainbow warps each shade shames

Us, as we are split and speared by spectrum.

They have put us all to a test, but they do not

Know the answers. The tracing app is not

Working and Hancock does not know when

It will. England crumbles, hourly as these

Unskilled brats try to bake us. As you know who

Plots against us and the cat in the court finds

Its kill. For there is a rat within English law,

And it is sucking now on each shadow. It is

Both a corruptive force and a person,

Wrenching apart the sick state. People can

Now crowd on the streets, but no pub or

Restaurant can be opened. The two feet distance

Is furloughed but you will be quarantined if you

Fly: Truth as hate. The Rule of Three still persists

As they literally Newspeak before us.

I bet Priti Patel's never read it. For Dominic,

That's a comic. And for, Boris? Well. Who can say?

His oafishness is an act, but who in truth, is the actor?

As he avoids every question, he'll continue to cheat

Through foul play. What truly remains is a big

Unbounced boy, growing more playground cruel

By the minute. As his popularity slides, we'll see

Rancour, as his paltry parade achieves rain.

It will be four more years of bad days under

Which we will labour, while the elegantly gathering

Storm of Keir Starmer threatens to shine and show

Blame. As they obfuscate, Keir concludes, 

Clearing murky paths to find message. 

He has them on the ropes as they wrestle,

But the power is theirs. The bell rings. 

He seeks the answers we need. But they

Fail every question. Their fat mouths fall open.

End music starts. No-one sings.

For will we hear a slowly rousing chorale,

Or a final chorus? For the peoples' troubled

Tongues still need kissing

When blood begats

Bastard Kings.

David Erdos June 12th 2020

For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection 

David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.

David Erdos

©    David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.