Happy Brexmas

by Jim Mainland

The turkey’s chlorine-washed

                                             bish-boshed

                                                           well and truly stuffed

and there’s no room

at the Wetherspoon’s  

         so go give birth in a foodbank,

             you citizen of nowhere,

                                                   you queue-jumper

     you plank!

And goodbye wise-guy Magi

                   (we’ve had enough of experts)

and, Oi, shepherds, watch your backs

                                                             (how come your sheep

       do nothing but bleat?)

because we want no stranger danger

                                         in that manger    

no swaddling, molly-coddling

       benefits cheat.

But we have had a whip-round for the Boy

           gift-cobbled together some of our best ye olde –

Terry’s All Golde,

   Brut (ya beaut!)

                         and Omo,    

to speed you on your way, bro,

to soften your Windrush

                     bumsrush

because it’s hostile, it’s a jungle out there, so I’m told...

And us?

We’ll follow the felt-collared spiv,

            wrap our minds

in the flag of St George  

          and set to sea in a sieve.

For Folk’s Sake 

by Jim Mainland

The will of the people!

The people’s vote!

The enemies of the people!

The people’s princess!

The People’s Friend!

The Wee Arra People!

Q: Quantify the value of p

where b[ollocks] is constant.