Labour pains

In Competition No. 2444 you were invited to offer two stanzas in the metre and rhyme-scheme of Byron’s ‘Don Juan’, making fun of one or more of the Labour party’s present embarrassments.

‘Never,’ said Charles Seaton, my predecessor, when he passed on the sacred baton, ‘give them a political subject. They get too hot under the collar to be funny.’ How wrong he was! Congratulations not only on being amusing but also on handling the challenging ottava rima with verve and skill. Moyra Blyth and Ray Kelley deserve better than to be runners-up. The winners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bonus fiver goes to Noel Petty.

For Charles, the warning bells began to chime.
His staff had brought about his very worst case:
Among the prisoners who’d served their time
(Or maybe half) were some of that accurst race
Of foreigners, Napoleons of crime
Who never should have been here in the first place.
They’d promptly vanished, crying ‘Carpe diem!’,
A fact Charles declined to tell the PM.

But Truth, like thieves and murderers, will out,
And so was Charles, as anyone might guess.
Now who, the PM asked, would have the clout
To set to rights this vast, unholy mess?
Someone with balls enough to wield the knout
But oil enough to pacify the press.
He looked along his ranks of bright-eyed men,
And sighed. ‘Dear God! I’m stuck with John again.’
Noel Petty

What thrills may lurk behind an office door
As zips unzip and buttons are undone
While nylon scanties rustle to the floor.
A busy DPM must have his fun,
Or else the job is just a thankless chore.
Besides, what secretary is a nun?
Yet quelle horreur, the thought. I try, and fail,
To banish pictures of a stranded whale.

Then there are scoundrels, less concupiscent,
Whose pulses palpitate to drier beats,
Whose energy and wealth are lent or spent
To buy a ticket to red leather seats.
As