Another false dawn; Blair,
blurring the boundaries of politics and spin,
that sociopath Campbell waiting in the wings,
in the grip of more big visions.
The night New Labour drove socialism off the literal cliff;
the TV feed of partying now-celebrity MPs,
the stench of betrayal of all the core values,
the ushering in of a far-from Golden Age.
A sclerotic party running against yet more sociopathic
selling the country,
as it fragments,
as it ceases to be united.
In 1997 it was plain the see;
no fine line between right and left,
just a muted centre.
I slugged stout and let a solitary tear,
drift down my fake-stoic face.