Who possesses this electorate?
Vini, who rolls around it diurnally
On a bicycle?
Or Steven Marshall, newcomer
Who is very keen to get in?
False question, for this electorate
Belongs to no man
Or woman either
And all that happens here
Would happen anyway.
But that is not to say
We should not have got up earlier
This morning.
For Steven Marshall pipped us at the post
And got his corflutes up
Taking all the best spots
Near the polling booth
Leaving us only the mesh fence
Behind the carpark.
The cunning bastard.
(Apologies to Norman MacCaig, whose poem, A Man in Assynt, inspired this rant)
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