on a night out
in Camden, three prostitutes
sang luring songs
from the Lock —
with my ears plugged
I made for Westminster’s
seat of power
for quest
to make the world safe
for circumvention
battling the one-eyed monster
in time for a presidential
round of parlour games
democracy mimed
for a festive charade
of ambition,
slicing neatly
into the golden fleece