A Note From a Special Adviser

Don’t think of my journey, my secret escape,
My rush to the country despite the red tape,
Driving my car like a half-rabid ape.
This special adviser’s a keeper.

Don’t think of my silence when Ferguson fell,
The gaps in the story my wife chose to tell,
Whilst knowing that I had been selfish as hell,
Ignoring the graph getting steeper.

I merely left town without telling the boss,
The Cabinet Sec. or the junior dross.
Missing her birthday would make my wife cross,
Don’t forget I’m a terrible creeper.

Forget that our stories are now shifting sands,
That Shapps tried to save me with slippery hands;
Transport not medicine’s what he understands.
The water is not getting deeper.

I drove out to Barnard just testing my sight,
Boris would say if that didn’t sound right,
Then returned to the house I’d abandoned in fright.
We think you’re all thick as a sleeper.

Lock up Patel so they can’t see her smirks.
Fire up the whips. That always works.
Just treat the public as if they’re all jerks,
Tell the PM he has to play sweeper.

Get the Express to fire up the hate,
Sully the Crown and the great jobs of state,
Tell big lies often, set nothing straight,
Stack up the lies, sell them cheaper.

Ignore the Mail with its tabloid attacks,
Its owner’s a snowflake with lefties for hacks.
Face to the enemy, I’ll watch your backs.
This special adviser’s a keeper.

But if there’s a sound in the back of your head
It can’t be the weeping from next to a bed,
It won’t be the silence of thousands of dead.
Don’t even think of the reaper.

Even I can’t fool the reaper.

J R Staveley