This poem is called Trussed Up because that is the situation of so many individuals and families in the UK at the moment. Alternative Title – Laid out to Dry

TRUSSED UP

Fossil fuels, fracking, the planet is cracking
Wind power plans are scorned.
We'll be trussed up like chickens by a Liz,
not the queen,
who will leave the poorest forlorn.
With a Jacob Rees-Mogg
who despises the mob, comparing us all to pot plants.
The Brexiteer crew will all sail through
to their second homes in France.
Whilst we shiver and freeze and cover our knees
with blankets and hot water bottles,
the policies of the new Queen LIz
will go ahead full throttle
with coal and oil, to create turmoil
and cut the green levy to zero,
whilst she emulates, the not so great, Margaret Thatcher, her Tory hero.
When the sea levels rise, will they heed the cries
of groups like Extinction Rebellion?
Or will Rees-Mogg continue to flog his climate skeptic intentions?
No windfall tax will affect the fat cats
who profit from people's distress.
And the lies and sleaze of the Tory Grandees
endorsed by the right wing press
will continue to rule and take us for fools,
not caring if we feel the pinch.
Enough is enough, it's time to get tough
and follow the likes of Mick Lynch.