#Brexit

 

 

headless-chicken-1

(source)

Barmy, the farmer, had a few precious eggs

And bales of dry hay in her barn

But nary a neighbour would purchase her goods

So Barmy was filled with alarm

What to do, what to do, with her clutch of fine eggs

How to handle them and keep them whole

Barmy came up with a spiffing idea

A crazy, impossible goal

She’d juggle those eggs, keep them all in the air

While she caught them and ran for some hay

The hens they looked on with incredulous eyes

And a sense of impending dismay

Their future was rising and falling by turns

As they peeked from behind cushioned wings

What the hell was the farmer, that barmy auld git

Doing with their precious things

They fussed while she ran from farmhouse to barn

Not a basket nor pot to piss in

Calling to all who were standing nearby

‘I’ve got this. I used to be quite a good catch.’

Just look at her go on those pins

Her neighbours were watching and couldn’t believe

Why she’d threaten the treasures she had

Why she’d risk them being scrambled, poached, boiled or fried

While she wobbled about looking mad

Barmy was pleased with her dexterous display

Though she grimaced with effort and pain

And wasn’t amused as a commentary ran and cries of

‘Hey, try that again!’

Barmy, determined, kept her eyes on the prize

Ears cocked to the hens as they clucked

If only they’d trust her, she thought to herself

As she ploughed through a pile of cow muck

Knee deep in shit, she muddled right on

The barn was nearly in sight

Another few steps and a hurdle or two

She could do this! She would! Well, she might…

 

Alas, for poor Barmy, the barn was on fire

All that hay had gone up in smoke

No straw to clutch to, not a scrap to be found

And the smell of it gave her the boak

The haze from the burning puddled her eyes

She mistimed a throw then a catch

Cluck, cluck went the hens. Oh, fuck went the crowd

And she dropped the whole bloody batch

With no barn on horizon, no hay to be had

No eggs except for their mess

Barmy and everyone else on the farm

Were purple with pain and the stress

Barmy was broken, just like the eggs

She crumpled then, lay down and cried

Up to her neck in a mound of manure

But no one could say she’d not tried

So that was alright, she’d given her best

All through the jeers she could hear

Other folks’ eggs and other folks’ shite

Aw, bless her, the poor silly dear

 

Never take on what others will not

Never gamble with what you have got

Never forget old lessons when taught

All that’s thrown is not always caught

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13 thoughts on “#Brexit”

  1. Or don’t want to be caught 😦
    I think all decisions in parliament should be tied to their pay (as in everything, their superannuation etc included), so that at the end of the day, if their decision makes money for the country, their pay goes up. If it takes a dive, so does their money.
    A bit more responsibility can do wonders for their decisions, then their will be no more playing with other peoples eggs 😀

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    1. Splendid idea, Mark! Everyone else seems to be on performance pay or regressive rates. If it’s good enough for us, should be good enough for them. They should jump at the chance to prove their efficiency! Let’s not hold our breath, though, eh? :/

      Liked by 1 person

  2. My how I have missed reading your poetry and stories!! Congratulations on the Hope Award by the way and thank you for sharing Vanessa Bleeyee’s blog…she is amazing; I am following her on fb now. Happy Christmas my friend xx

    Liked by 1 person

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