So, Theresa had a cough!
I think the hacks should let her off
After all, such things occur
To lofty toff and common curr…
Who hasn’t choked upon their oath?
And spluttered, stuttered - sometimes both?
Who hasn’t wanted to retreat
Instead of standing in defeat,
Words all mangled, cheeks ablaze
Played out in the public gaze?
The PM’s thirst could not be quenched
As Tories sat with buttocks clenched
And there was Boris, near the front
Scenting blood, the end of hunt
He was not alone of course
In seeking to unseat this horse
But let all those who try to score
When the boss’s throat is sore
Be wary what they do or say
And don’t demean the wounded prey
(Recall that it’s the underdog
Who oft stands tall post battle fog)
So Tories, pick a safer fight
On grounds of, say, too left or right,
Or too mundane,
Or short of brain,
Or quite insane,
Or much too vain
Or even, (Boris close your ears)
Too much the clown, with big cloth ears
(By God, if Boris were quite fairly judged
His ambition would not much have budged
Beyond the echelons of those
Who pillory politicos!)
But let’s get back to poorly throats
And remember they win fickle votes…
Perhaps Theresa, after all,
Will profit from this mis-timed squall
Painted as a plucky sort
Who struggled on, though overwrought
Calm when a pesky man did strive
To hand out May’s P45
(If Boris wanted Brownie points
He should have felled him at the joints.
Yes, Boris with his rugby shape,
Instead of sitting mouth agape
Could have brought the “prankster” down
And been the toast of Tory town)
So what the cost of Throatgate now,
If May’s bad throat we disavow?
If self-promoting pranks apart
We want to carp, where do we start?
It’s simple: for conspirators
Who like dramatic theatres,
And those who simply want to scoff…
Ask who fixed the backdrop so
The effing F fell off?
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