If Burnham fails, O let him fail badly, 
from the Left, not like yon stookey, Sir Keir
Cack-handly, from the Right, with that odious 
smell, Deep State, all about and around him, 
grim, unblinking gargoyle of the empty stare,
unable to read any room Zelensky’s been in, or
smell the blood of Gaza’s children just because
they’re not his own, poor damned spectral
thing, a hologram, a hollow man, Chauncey 
Gardiner without the charm, a thespian clone
playing some part he neither knew nor owned
or cared for, a piece of cold sham, a Nowhere
Man, stuffed but still empty shirt wrestled out
and through the door just before the roof caved in.

O Welcome, Andy! Goodbye, Brother Grimm!

Alistair Findlay’s published collections include Sex, Death and Football (Luath, 2003) and Dancing with Big Eunice (Luath, 2010), a history of shale miners in West Lothian Shale Voices (Luath, 2010) , and a social work memoir Mollycoddling The Feckless (Luath, 2019). He is a former poetry co-editor at The Morning Star.

Poetry submissions to thursdaypoems@gmail.com.