Your Party…Not Mine
On a gloomy Autumnal Saturday,
The red revolution in its latest
Incarnation, trying its very best
To look credible, made its ponderous way
To the bandstand in a Huddersfield park.
Bearing aloft flimsy flags and placards
Proclaiming this new party, hopeful words
Unable to dispel what is the stark
Reality, Lenin’s inheritors
Still misrepresenting socialism,
Soon to be riven by split and schism,
Another grouplet the voter ignores.
But, even if they don’t suffer that fate,
At best they’ll move capital to the state.
D. A.
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