An Affliction of Poetry: The Wallux and the Seapeter, with apologies to Lewis Carroll

Tuesday, May 7, 2024

The Wallux and the Seapeter, with apologies to Lewis Carroll

The Wallux was whining in the sky,
Whining with all his might
He said he was the chosen one
And, I quote, an "entitled" little blight
Which was not so odd because
He was a self-indulgent little shite

"Oh voters, won't you vote for us,
Our eyes are very blue."
"And we will hurt the people
Who aren't you," the Seapeter quickly cried
"And we have gifts," The Wallux added,
Just wait to see what is inside.

Mother voter eyed them warily
But her kin were keen
Come on, they said, let's go and walk
After all, our Mum is mean
And so the voters strayed
with promises of green.

The Sea was smiling sulkily
Smiling with all his might
While the Peter led the Wallux around
By the balls of blight
"Come and deal," the Wallux crowed
While the Peter shrugged and said, "Well, I think I might."

And soon the Wallux and the Seapeter
Had become a thing. So now all three heads
Were as wet as wet could be,
And racist as heck to boot
Their smiles as slick and smarmy
As an old jackbooted coot

"Do you suppose," the Wallux said,
His greed so plain to see
"If we should fire the workers
There'd be more money for me,"
"Oh yes," the Seapeter heads cried
"Then you can give the rest to me."

With fork and knife and serving spoon
They tucked into the feast
"I weep for me," the Wallux said:
"Please, deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he dumped
Public sector jobs of every size

"It's such a shame," the Wallux said,
"That we can't fire some more."
"True that," Seapeter agreed
"I'd love to settle every score."
The Wallux rubbed his hands
"Maybe next time,
"I think the voters are getting sore."

And with that, the Wallux heaved his paunchy gut
And took his own pay rise,
(with sighs as to its size)
And so I'm asking you, dear voter
Shall we let this monster have it's run?
Or shall we tell the entitled blights
Their days destroying NZ are done.