It is reported that Theresa May is relying on people’s boredom to get her Brexit deal through the House of Commons; she now keeps telling everybody repeatedly that they are Bored of Brexit (BOB) and just want a deal – any deal – done.
Six hundred pages, start to end,
Which Mrs May must now defend;
It’s long enough to make you sob,
Because you’re now a man called BOB,
BOB’s not been mentioned anywhere,
There is no doubt he’s not been there,
And that’s because he’s only just,
Invented to reduce the fuss.
BOB, you’ve now realised, is bored,
And May hopes this will strike a chord,
With other people who’ll be BOBs,
Some of them bright but others slobs.
So now it’s clear she has a plan:
To make us nod off if she can,
And then while we’re all comatose,
She’ll tell us all that nasty prose,
Is detail and it matters not,
Because agreement she has got.
She’ll shout it everywhere she goes,
As said before, in mostly prose,
But I expect if she has time,
She might repeat it all in rhyme,
And then it could be even worse,
To hear the whole lot said in verse.
But her approach, beyond the pale,
Is pretty likely doomed to fail,
For last time she found to her cost,
She went and the election lost.
And this time it seems odd to note,
The people who on this will vote,
Are not the likes of you and me,
But rather six hundred MPs.
It’s likely they will not be BOBs,
For though they sometimes sleep like logs,
They could each other Brexit teach,
By reading only one page each!