Politics lurks everywhere we look:

Politics of dithering and backtrack,

Of scaremongers and big-boy nostalgia.

Nowhere to hide. In the US of A,

Blusterman is lying through his teeth.

Meanwhile, the same old suspects starve,

Or steal to fill their bellies or their habit,

While, next door to this, others lead their lives,

Trying honesty to round off each year’s end.

Through hot air, the old and waxy flex muscles,

Fighting dirty from the fat of bunkers;

Out of the skies all sorts of warheads fall,

And smash the skull of one unlucky boy.

Who cares? It’s just politics. Dig him out.