New Zealand’s semi-official poet laureate Victor Billot pens topical verse every Sunday. Today: the last week of the election campaign
The Last Battle; and a vision of an Ancient King
Cindy’s Landing is under siege, surrounded.
Pundits poke entrails, but remain confounded.
The War in Heaven has dragged on ten seasons,
’til plague ridden subjects have near lost all reason.
Lady Judith marched for many bitter days, fruitlessly,
‘cross the wastes of the Marsh of Ponsonby.
Few mudlarks came forward to doff and greet.
They disappeared, on feet so fleet.
A plucky retainer proferred cheese rolls on tray,
but Judith, distract’d, thrust the morsels away.
The orc infantry shook their heads in dismay.
Bad optics, baby, this is not OK.
In her fluffy dungeon, Queen Cindy lurks,
attending to necromancy and other dark works.
She slowly peels off the smiling mask
and sips snake venom fresh from the cask.
She mixes up a woke witches brew:
a bubbling, steaming, “kindness” ragu.
Then stirs in well-intentioned fluff.
Forget about that 100,000 houses stuff!
Thus these two Amazons of State do contend,
and chop and slice and gouge ’til brutal end
in a brawl of focus groups and tweets,
florid rhetoric, and Facebook bleats.
Contest will conclude in the political arena.
The plebeians will pick from the kinder or meaner.
Then, well amused, flow from circus gates in good cheer,
to keep paying sky high rent for their dank lairs.
Yet I dreamt of a Great King from times long past,
a shining vision compleat with trumpet blast.
Have you forgotten what you once knew?
Norm said the people’s needs are few.
Somewhere to live, some food to eat,
some clothing to wear, and something to hope for.
*Made with the support of Creative New Zealand*