She told me people died so I could vote.
At which I said: “O, what a bloody waste!
Forgive me if I do not sugarcoat
my words”. She stared at me, all stony-faced.
“How could you speak that way?” she said, aghast,
“when martyrs died, your freedom to ensure”.
“Because”, I said, “I’m an iconoclast
who doesn’t fall for sophistry’s allure.
For those who fill the theatre on your screens
each time election fever starts to roll
are merely window-dressing (figurines)
designed by secret powers for your control.
Each time you put your X inside that box,
the clique which rules this world your folly mocks!
© Alan Morrison, 2017