Brexit

“X” marks the spot, the people have spoken.
With a UKIP quip, Brexit means Brexit.
Britannia, from her slumber, has woken,
But will it be a hard or soft exit?

Splendid isolation, just the ticket!
A tricky divorce from fey Eurocrats,
skittling them out on a sticky wicket
that is fertile ground for prowling fat cats.

But what did we actually vote for?
Britain’s answer will take years to emerge.
Let us hope it’s something we won’t abhor
That leaves us stranded on a crumbling verge.

Richard Foster,
October 2016

In the wake of PM Theresa May’s keynote speech on Brexit I’ve dusted off this poem from three months ago.

Advertisements

Author: rjefoster

I am a budding musician and poet hoping to bloom.

Leave a Reply

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s