Downfall

Seeing a recent documentary on Brexit, I was struck by how little was achieved during Mrs May's premiership. She began with empty slogans - remember "Brexit means Brexit" - and the lunacy continued with "We want a Red, White and Blue Brexit". 

Meanwhile, the ardent Brexiteer Ministers, David Davies and Boris Johnson tried their arguments against the European Union, and failed miserably to achieve anything. As was noted, “there can be few more symbolic pictures than the shot of Barnier and his team with large dossiers in front of them, and David Davies and his team empty-handed.”.

The most appalling spectacle of the documentary, however, was Mrs May bounding onto the Conservative Party platform, dancing to the tune of ABBA's Dancing Queen. The EU team didn't say much - they didn't need to, the sense of embarrassment was palpable. Even the fictional Jim Hacker never attempted anything so vacuous. As a writer noted, it was "a tribute act bereft of ideas, principles or basic competence".

So here is a poem about her downfall, and the vultures waiting in the wings, ready to take her place, as with for example Boris Johnson,  who was recently seen punching his fist in the air in which seemed like a deja vue, as it brought back memories of Donald Trump, another demagogue populist, doing likewise.

Downfall

Once she seemed strong and stable
Determined, confident, and proud
But little by little, became less able
As clamour to leave became so loud

Time wasted, and the years slipped by
The National Interest was her creed
A Dancing Queen, left high and dry
Ignoring Scots, but wearing tweed

And in the wings, the vultures wait
Greedy eyes, and grasping hands
Rich pickings as she meets her fate
Each come with their adoring fans

Brexit: she will leave without a deal
And now funeral bells begin to peal