Tough at the Top

by Paul Francis

Though Paula Vennells has this business brain
she moonlights as a handmaid of the lord -
a vicar with an eagle eye for gain.
The Post Office is happy to reward
a boss who is prepared to deal out pain
through cutting costs – her terrible swift sword
keeps slicing at the staff, cuts hard and deep.
Is that God’s work? The angels watch and weep.

Horizon was the system of IT
which found discrepancies in the accounts.
To Vennells it was all too plain to see:
the staff must be embezzling huge amounts.
She will ensure these crooks do not run free.
Directors love her, watch those profits bounce.
She gets a CBE for what she did
and trousers up a cool five million quid.

Meanwhile postmasters and postmistresses
are losing friends and family, go to jail.
They try explaining these injustices
but no-one’s seen a glitch on quite this scale.
They don’t do dialogue, modern businesses.
How could an IT system simply fail?
The staff morale is at an all-time low
but who cares? Dividends are good to go.

Post Office can afford the top-rate fee
for barristers. They play it rough.
A mother doesn’t want her child to see
the handcuffs, stops them visiting. That’s tough.
Only the postmasters, it’s claimed, can see
this data, so their guilt is clear enough.
A huge amount’s been spent to back this lie
and only one reporter’s asking why.

Inside Horizon staff know things are wrong.
A whistle-blower says techies can adjust
the data – so it doesn’t just belong
to postmasters. Management say they’ll trust
an audit team, but sing a different song
when asked for files. You can’t see them for dust.
Vennells’ façade’s intact, but underneath
the record shows she’s lying through her teeth.

Each victim was assured they were unique
but there were hundreds. It’s a can of worms.
Key evidence went missing. Hide and seek.
Turns out that this most obdurate of firms
though warned by lawyers that their case was weak
still fought it out in unrelenting terms:
“Keep driving up the costs. We shoot to kill.
They need to know they can’t afford the bill.”

For twenty years, these workers’ lives were tossed
into a nightmare where they had no say -
homes vanished, dreams demolished, futures lost.
Ninety convictions have been wiped away.
Hundreds of millions it is going to cost
to put this right. Is Vennells going to pay?
No chance. Long gone, she’s smiling, out the door.
Business as usual. Rich pick on the poor.

The Comeback Kings

by Paul Francis, with image by Martin Rowson

Time for a golden oldies track -
the Tony/Peter duo’s back
to tell their fans they’re thrilled to bits
they can replay their greatest hits.
It’s leadership that matters most.
“The party” is a fading ghost;
commitments, values, Labour’s soul?
Stuff that. It’s all about control
and their determination’s clear.
They have a bot. They call him Keir

named after Hardie. Don’t be fooled.
Tradition has been overruled
so ancient loyalties are dropped.
Support for unions has stopped,
like underdogs they backed before -
the Blacks, disabled or the poor.
Back in two thousand seventeen
some saw a future, kids were keen
but that was then; right now it’s plain
there is a swamp they need to drain.

There’s infestation, they can see:
“not-Corbyn” is their USP.
An anti-semitism purge
becomes a systematic scourge
of elements they need to lose –
and quite a lot of them are Jews.
Meanwhile, the Williams report
on Windrush gathers dust; some thought
Keir’d want to know. He turns away.
Not now. Maybe another day.

Hamas attack. When there’s a war
back the US. That worked before
says Tony. Keir adopts the line
whatever Israel does is fine.
Cut off electric, water? Good.
They’ll claim he was misunderstood
but discipline is not in doubt;
vote for a ceasefire and you’re out.
Forget about lost members, please;
they’re simply shaking off the fleas.

The Mandelson Masterclass

by Paul Francis

You ready, Keir? The die is cast.
Embrace the future, ditch the past.
You, Rayner, Nandy were a team
but solidarity’s a dream
and figureheads must stand alone.
You have to do this on your own.

Borrow ideas, like being green,
devolving power from the machine;
this stuff from Miliband and Brown
can be picked up – and then put down.
I’m saying you need to travel light.
They can be useful, but I’m right.

Momentum, back in ‘17
had hordes of canvassers, dead keen
to spread the word that something new
was on the way – could that be true?
Enthusiasm on the streets
won’t compensate for past defeats.
So clear the slate; they have to see
“Not Corbyn” is your USP.

Now anti-semitism’s the test
of true believers, who scores best.
That’s where you showed your Midas touch.
Racism? Windrush? Not so much
but pledges, manifestoes, vows
are just a line of sacred cows
you need to slaughter. Say again
- what matters? “Me, in Number Ten.”

No truck with other parties, deals;
ignore the offers and appeals.
Collaboration, compromise
are a distraction from the prize.
You’ll need a safety first approach -
no sharing platforms with Ken Loach,
no independent stroppy mayors
with local loyalties. Who cares?
The Brexit lesson – sell your soul
and then you’re free to take control.

One disembodied, male mind
is all it takes to leave behind
the women, strikers, kids and blacks
who’ve had the Tories on their backs
for years. They’re not the votes you need.
Losers won’t help you to succeed.
Austere detachment. That’s the way
to prove that you’re above the fray.
No angry quotes on Palestine
or chatting up the picket line.
I am the guru, and I know
you’re Blair on steroids: Go, Keir, go!

Blind Spot

by Paul Francis

She’s had to ditch that school job, which she loved;
some supermarket shifts will pay the bills.
She’s haunted by the story of a kid
who mimes that he is eating, every day,
taking an empty lunchbox into school.
And on the news, this big man in a suit
says he’ll be cutting taxes on the rich.

He thinks he sees it all. He can’t see her
because he’s focussed on the nods and smiles
as donors pat his back, congratulate
their protégé, and top up his champagne.
There will be turbulence, but he’ll maintain
this course. He tells them what they want to hear.
“It’s just the start. There will be more to come.”

The Hurdle Race

by Paul Francis

The Guru says that every kid
should run the same race that he did.
He wants lanes narrow, hurdles tall.
A course where most contestants fall
may not be sensitive or just;
what matters is that it’s robust.
So many ways to be assessed -
the Guru knows that his is best.

One lesson’s clear, in viral gloom:
think food, devices, gardens, room.
The Covid axe has split apart
those deep divisions at our heart.
“Just like before” ’s not good enough.
Time to acknowledge other stuff –
the poor decisions, lack of thought,
the failure to provide support.

 Now, maybe, is the time and place
to rethink. Organise the race
by asking those with expertise
in training kids. Such heresies
are rife abroad, where rebels try
to work outside the box, defy
the timetable, set brainwaves free
with teamwork, creativity.

 It’s tough for kids in any case
but with new pressures that they face
they need the chance to draw a breath.
They’ve had the daily news of death;
they’ve felt frustration, boredom, pain
and need to feel free again,
to get their networks up to speed
build the resilience that they need.

 The Guru’s gang say all it takes
is longer sessions, shorter breaks.
They’ve put the hurdles back in place.
Rehearsals start tomorrow. Race!
But kids aren’t ready, good to go.
They may be young, but they still know
their future’s not this narrow track,
these ancient hurdles. Don’t look back.