Apparently Baroness Thatcher’s health and memory are failing.
This is me trying to empathise.
You’re sure you should already be at work
But, somehow, you cannot get out of bed.
Your country needs you. Keep calm, carry on.
A woman comes to toilet you and change
Your soaking bedsheets. Helps you to your seat
The woman says “Good morning, Baroness”
Who is she talking to? No baroness
Lives here, and now you’re very late for work.
Four hours a night should be enough. This seat
Is not where it should be. This room, this bed
‘s not yours at Number Ten. When did things change?
The woman helps you put your make-up on.
But now it’s time that you were getting on
With governing the country. “Baroness,
Don’t try to stand. You need another change?”
Who is this girl? You have to get to work.
You seem to spend a lot of time in bed
These days, when youre not in this padded seat.
Then you remember: someone took your seat
In parliament, and everyone moved on
And left you in this strange and stinking bed.
It’s coming back. They made you Baroness
After (God, no!) they stopped you going to work
Saying the time had come for things to change.
And after that you watched your party change.
It lost control. Each ally lost his seat
They started to undo all of your work
You could do nothing but look sadly on
And clutch the dignity that “Baroness”
Afforded you, and go, at last, to bed.
The woman’s brushed your hair and made your bed.
She turns on the TV, the channels change
The news comes on. “You want this, Baroness?”
You gaze, enthralled. Strain forward in your seat
As some young moonfaced fellow carries on
Your legacy. Puts thousands out of work.
The Baroness is ready for her bed
Relieved her work’s still done, although times change.
Her seat now filled by Mr Cameron.
Tom Juniper Poetry 