A Priti poem: an ode to the Home Secretary

28 December 2020

9:00 PM

28 December 2020

9:00 PM

Priti Patel, Ms Priti Patel,
Burnished by sunshine of far Israel,
How we all cheered when on Marr you did smirk,
And as he got rattled, we yelled ‘O, good work!’

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh weakness of joy,
With the speed of a swallow you mangled the goy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you played Marr,
And like a Hindu princess you cheeked and you slayed Marr.

Priti Patel, Ms Priti Patel,
Mandarins you mangle, and at police chiefs you yell,
Illegals you find where others have missed ’em,
But you’re no xenophobe with your lovely points system.

Conference loves you, especially on crime,
When you praise execution, and life means lifetime,
When you toss your long hair with handcuffs resplendent,
I wish you would just wear my heart as a pendant.

Priti Patel, Ms Priti Patel,
You’re a Guardianista’s vision of hell,
But I’d gladly be bullied without repercussions,
If you’d just include me in Ugandan discussions.

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Julie Burchill's poem appears in the Christmas issue of The Spectator

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