When members were polled in the end/
On which polished turd they’d commend,/
Indicative voting/
Left no motion floating,/
They all disappeared round the bend.///
https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2019/mar/27/mps-reject-all-alternative-brexit-options
Officials at NASA have canned/
An all-female spacewalk they’d planned;/
As spacesuits for guys/
Are not the right size,/
The mission will have to be manned.///
MPs have been airing their views,/
And say it’s now their turn to choose/
What Britain should do/
About the EU,/
Instead of just watching May lose.///
A million people today/
Are marching to tell Mrs May/
Her Brexit deal’s dead/
And maybe instead/
The people should have a new say.///
Prosaic Theresa gets terse/
She sees things can only get worse/
Perhaps, Mrs May,/
World Poetry Day/
Means now is the time to re-verse.///
A pensioner scratching his head/
About who had tidied his shed,/
By using his nous,/
Discovered a mouse/
That didn’t like mess near its bed.///
Some 56 ewes went to term,/
Australian farmers confirm,/
Each bearing a lamb,/
From one long-dead ram,/
By means of some very old sperm.///
Dmitry was ever so able:/
He dreamed up, or so goes the fable,/
A way, by formatinum,/
Lead, zinc, carbon, platinum/
Et al might appear in a table.///
I’m sorry my speech is so rude,/
It’s not me but rather my food,/
Our ancestors’ diet/
Accounting for why it/
Is frequently fucking well crude.///
MPs gave their backing today/
To seeking a Brexit delay:/
As this month’s too soon,/
They’ll try end of June,/
(Before which will come end of May).///
