The Seven Ages of an MP
His life is seven glories: first, Select,
preening and posing on the hustings’ stage.
Then smirking Victor, proud majority,
swept in to Westminster with hoots and cheers
to learn expenses, Whips and Nolan, how
to bend, discreetly, common decencies.
But 'Sinner!' brays The Sun as dalliance
wrong-foots his path—six months’ brief penitence
till all’s forgot. Now, infant Minister,
who huffs and puffs his master’s platitudes
to keep the ship afloat. So, TV calls;
a solemn Pundit, go-to Newsnight voice,
opining views via columns in the press
and, sixth, a Knight, now purple-faced and vast,
until his elevation, Lord Old Fart,
sans hopes’ sans ears’ and eyes’ reality.
If you have any
thoughts on this poem, D.A.
Prince would be pleased to hear them.