Meeting My MP In The Street

The kind of day that urges you to observe.
Learn what time-kissed Victorian bricks exist –
drink and reminisce above the high street.

Soar for a while, before hooked back to ground.
Our Member of Parliament is storming down
that beloved stretch of patterned cement.

Stand fully charged. A magnet waiting for contact.
Sockets analyse wicked entourage as my options
start flicking through a Rolodex of responses.

There’s an influx of questions, injustice and inquiries.
Like all those stories stuck in permanent sun dawn,
meaning there’s always hope but never warmth.

Polished black shoes now by the ironic news-
agents. I contemplate resorting to expletives
but fear irrelevance like a rampaging elephant.

Then in fantasy fireworks, my sparkler drowns.
A rebellious town resident repelled without glance.
Reduced to the rosette on that expensive lapel.

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s