alittlepoison

Such is life that the Prime Ministent is up.
Tony Blair, as he is, is chewing on a worried knuckle.
Politely he orders more red salmon.
In three hours he lands in Basrah,
troops deftly shake his hand in front of a jungle photographer.

Jack Straw is up, contemplating his china tea service.
The china is thin: red and gold detail.
It will be three hours before morning tea is brought to him.

John Prescott and Michael Howard recline, the former
on scented sheets,
Howard in a fitful sleep. Tony Blair returns to his knuckle.
Prescott holds a milk tooth - his own - he is up.
I am up.
A field of horses sleep standing up.
Michael Howard dreams of a barnyard
In throwing off the covers he will wheeze to the window and -
deviod of responsibility - stare homelessly out. 4:45!
The policeman below catches his gaze
Returns a protective wave. All’s well. 4:50!
Dick Cheney exhales loud from a barber’s chair.
When the barber’s back is turned he twists his face
Lips out
To resemble a horse: This amuses.
The knuckle returns to the gnawing mouth.

David Blunkett sleeps, under his pillow a
Lambskin pouch containing
Two Golden Eyeballs,
as he does.
Such is life, the Ghost of Christmas Future mulches over a
Wry baguette in a westminster corridor. Sisyphus is almost up,
crying.
Such is the knuckle that the man cannot weep.
The horses have monopolised sleep.