Tuesday Poem: Malcolm Turnbull’s tie
May 9, 2016
Malcolm Turnbull’s tie
Oh, when I curl up and die
please just let me be reborn
as Malcolm Turnbull’s tie.
No-one could weep (or even sigh),
at the elegant prospect
of being hung as Malcolm’s tie.
Way way way up on high
a spray-tanned face talks
above such a gorgeous tie.
And below that face lies
the endless, knotted glory
of a must-be imported tie.
We’d get on well, he and I,
as he smoothes and flatters
above the silken tongue of tie.
So, when I curl up and die
please just let me be reborn
as Malcolm Turnbull’s tie.
P.S. Cottier
Image of Robespierre chosen purely for sartorial reasons (and for the smirk).
As we enter an election campaign of approximately five hundred years, spare a thought for all the left-wing voters of Canberra (the place) who will be hearing Canberra referred to as merely the seat of the Government, as we go about our ordinary lives.
Many of us as very nice little bike-riding freaks.
(Image from the Musée Carnavalet, Public Domain)
PS Cottier 
Giggle 🙂
If only one could manufacture a poem about Bill Shorten. But I don’t think that’s possible.
I have been listening to his speeches of late and I detect the soul of a would be poet. He’s fond of alliteration.
Probably nice that he has another interest the way things are shaping up, although I think he’s wanted to be PM since he was about 6 or something. Beneath that beige exterior there beats a heart of brazen ambition.