IDS – in only one vowel

A univocalism in “i” for Iain Duncan Smith

This is IDS.
This swinish thin grin spilling cringing scripts,
this priggish birch whip,
this piss-dripping fright-witch
with whitish skin wig,
this jiggling tit hitting skint Brits in mining districts,
this grim Christ victimising sick spirits with dwindling titbits.

This is IDS
mimicking kings
ripping ribs in glitz grills
licking his lips thinking this is bliss
piling it high, sipping his gin fizz
whilst Brits flinch in windchill
sticking pins in him.

This is IDS
inking his lists: girls with six kids,
inciting right-wing print kingpins,
hissing pish, stirring fright
twisting victims till victims stink
till victims swim in ill will
till British dimwits drift right.

This is IDS.
I wish him midnight shifts.
I wish him sinking ships.
I wish him limp dicks.
I wish him shit picnics in drizzling mist with ISIS.
I wish him blind with hindsight.
I wish him illicit kinship with pigs.

1 Comment

  • John Wheway March 20, 2016 at 10:50 pm

    I like the Soundcloud version, enthusiastically performed by the poet.


Leave a Reply