Saturday Live 9/4 poems

The Tracks of His Tears

Is it the disharmonies of Nick Clegg’s job
that cause him to sonorously sob?
Sniffling about the public service pay cuts plan,
whilst listening to “Don’t Pay The Ferryman”,
A little boo hoo
brought on by “Would I Lie To You?”.
Is it Tears for Fears
he hears?
Oh, Nick how thou weepest
on hearing “The First Cut Is The Deepest”.
Thatcher not blubbing til her exit makes her
seem meaner,
or maybe she just never played
“Don’t Cry for Me Argentina”.

A Natural Listening Break

We’re the government and we’re taking some
listening exercise.
Think of us as a big, thick, flexing ear.
A gigantic auditory muscle,
that exists just to hear
you.

We’ll be a vast shell like spy satellite
focused on you day and night.

Not a scary, spy,
the sort that injects you with Uranium
until your brains fry,
but a friendly spy,
like one of the blonde ones off Spooks.

We want to listen to you gently.
We want to listen to you as intently
as the News of the World listens
to celebrity voicemails.
Our hearing will be so acute
we will hear the heartbeat of the Universe,
the clinking of the coppers left in the public purse,
the anxious pulse of a specialist nurse,
the screeching sound of another policy U turn.
We will listen until our ears burn.

We’re not like those governments that won’t listen
to what their citizens say,
we blast those loudly
until they go away.

We want to listen
to all women and all men,
but with us just talking there,
about how much we care,,
er…what was it you were saying again?

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