Silver-haired, his eyebrow arched,
Tony bares his well-scrubbed fangs:
The shirt is very freshly starched,
His eyes, as mobile as meringues,
Stare past your shoulders, left and right.
Cherie applies a fibrillator
In her palm, though out of sight.
Does the picture illustrate a
Fallen idol, plaster saint?
Well-tanned Tony’s here to peddle
Peace to all, to urge restraint,
To tell you that he’s bound to meddle
When Herod kills each eldest kiddie,
When Pharisees need condemnation:
When Judas needed comfort, did he
Have at hand The Blair Foundation?
Gordon’s gone, the snapshot warns –
John the Baptist’s had his fill.
Every day has several dawns.
Please recall me at your will.
Cherie has slipped her left hand round
To tug the string that brings a grin.
Propped up, waiting, not a sound,
Here is Tony’s mannequin.
Click here to read a Guardian article, and also to see the card
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