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Making a meal of the body politic

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the way it looks from over here
is infinitely grander
than your sodding plodding point of view
albeit my lofty
perch as perch can (well-intentioned) perspective
is framed by
my myopic references and your failing élan
so as I
survey your mildewed meta-mise en scène
it does behoove
my nobly ego-driven self-esteemed worldview
to look closer




Can you pick the aromatic flavour
of the grand feast set for your repast?
Does the fragrance linger, does it last
long enough olfactorily to savour?

Does your lover's scent transport you timewise
to Edens not yet bereft of passion?
Does conjured adorning then in fashion
lead you, saddened, to yearn for that lost spice?

Concupiscent conjuring may seem
as vivid and invoking as the wind.
Yet essence savoured, recalled, won't transcend,
nor will amour's incense change life's theme.




flex push stroke
massaged out     contact is confirmed
we nestle close closer     still at peace




When you make a
meal of body politic
you've got to crack
the whole thing open

season to taste
with bestrewn flakes
of policy offal
and prejudged bakes

taste and see
that government is
good and hot
for the lot

suck it up mate
you've got no idea
how hard it is
to fill a menu

serve offshore detention?
just add water
salt to taste
and erase border

grind those grubby unions
peel any sign of
party donations and extractions
from sorbeted cosseted carapaces

stop the gloats
straighten up and
get flyers Right

strain taxed gnats well
and whatever you do
add the promised pea
extract concord's scoured shell.

serve pre-heated
post May's entree
of budget salad




I sit with you and listen
with my head on my hand
and my heart in its rightful place,
perched between concern
and compassion-fatigued alertness.
I hear your frustration.
I taste your anger and
gingerly run
metaphysical fingers
across the edges of your distress,
indelibly sharpened by rejection,
inexorably conjured by need.
You need to talk.
I need to listen.


Barry GittinsBarry Gittins is a communication and research consultant for The Salvation Army.

Topic tags: Barry Gittins, poetry, Budget 2016



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Existing comments

Thanks, Barry. I now know why politics "suck". I also liked the other four poems but Suck was brilliant.

Uncle Pat | 20 April 2016  

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