Atop a battered soap box
In London's Trafalgar Square,
The politician stands
Amid the swarming crowds,

His Father's old brown suit
Dampened by the rain,
Of this cold November day.

Watched by tourists
And Londoners alike;
The House's honourable member
For Nottingham, South and East.

With miners lamp in hand
And pick at his feet,
He speaks with passion;
About life down a mine,
And life after coal.

After two and a half hours,
Of his truly moving speech
With a spontaneous ovation
And genuine applause;

He steps down to the ground,
Wet through to the bone.
Returning his borrowed box
He walks away and mingles with the crowd

Chris McKenna 24/25 August 1996	Back to poetry index Back to main index
Copyright (C) Chris Mckenna 1996.