399 - These days it seems no-one at all believes

These days it seems no-one at all believes
What politicians say. We’re all cynics,
Spinning our frosty autumn webs on leaves
No longer green, unsupportive of tricks.
We’re all fierce dogs, for whom they throw thin sticks,
Hoping to distance us and keep us sweet.
But we’ll foul up their park! Instead of licks,
They’ll get our jaws clamped on their trouser seat.
The public creature, once such easy meat,
No longer laps up master’s words, deceives
Him, turning like a wet worm. In a fix,
He fumbles for umbrella but is beat,
As year-end gales assail it. He achieves
Just muddy boots, the kind of mud that sticks.
Mon 8 Oct 2007