Dancing Politicians
(for SK whose letter from Uganda
provoked this ‘riposte’)
Dancing politicians are like water dragons
We see their surface dance
But will never know who beats their drum
In the mysty depths
One leg after another like stilt-dancers
Their jointless limbs are oiled by graft
The grease in their palms is enough
To fill a thousand barrels
Dancing politicians sway
Like dizzy masquerades
Their costumes are shrouds laundered
On the trampled acre of the nation’s grave
There is a spunk in their spin
Which unnerves the wind
A giddy pirouette which draws
The circle of a million volt faces
Dancing politicians mock
The dialect of the drum
The idiom on their lips
Is a lexicon of lies
There is no muse in their music
No sense beyond their sound
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