puppetmaster

Beneath the haystack Bojo claims for hair
Bob Mercer sees a weak mind he can bend.
A FaceBook ad...a small donation...there!
His puppet heads a slate of better men.
The City's coffers lost a trillion pounds
on fears their banks won't serve the Continent.
A rash decision, made on shaky grounds
resolved outside the halls of Parliament.
Will Corbyn's Opposition seize the day?
Two years, he offered nothing to believe.
But now, he sorta thinks Brits ought to Stay--
at least until they vote again to Leave.
Bob Mercer's puppets dance to suit his whim
and never question what enriches him.

stupid woman

Theresa May's state barque has run aground.
So Tories get to find a better man.
But now, they're flirting with that BoJo clown;
the party manifestly has no plan.
It's time insurgents cast off the Old Guard
and find a steady hand to helm this boat.
A second referendum's in the cards,
but still, it's Parliament that gets to vote.
Bob Mercer still aspires to pull the strings,
while using others to conceal his hand.
His dalliance with May's a sterile fling;
deliv'ring nothing got her flatly canned.
The European Project's not dead yet.
But nothing in its future's firmly set.

what lies beneath

The mumbo-jumbo Robert Mercer sells
can't reconcile his claims of grand results
the maths beneath the whistles, and the bells
betray that his veneer conceals a cult.
Practitioners of Nixon's dirty tricks
stoke files like Hoover's, fat with kompromat.
While facile charms of Alexander Nix
let clients lie about just what they've bought.
Bob Mueller knows the statutes, and they're clear;
campaigns are circumscribed in space, and time
if strategy's made anywhere but here
this may be yet another Trumpish crime.
From Michigan to Kenya, and Nepal,
an empire of deception's poised to fall.

bribery

Her Majesty's disposed to prosecute
Bob Mercer for his bribes, 'though overseas.
To dangle real-estate, or prostitute
gives all of Britain a bad name for sleaze.
Our FEC says workers on campaigns
must hold a green-card, if they're not from here.
But in the service of old Shit-for-Brains
such qualms of ethics blithely disappear.
They warned Steve Bannon, but he paid no heed.
The White House bid had only been a ruse
to build a brand, to feed the Donald's greed.
The very GOP's now poised to lose.
Another in his litany of crime
that hasn't--yet--been worth team Mueller's time.

puppetry

Bob Mercer stays in shadows, when he can
preferring that we see another's face
behind Trump lurks this humble, evil man
whose machinations handed him the race.
"Conspiracy!" as Clinton diagnosed
describes his venture, and it's duly vast.
But Mercer's too discreet to ever boast
and if he laughs, is 'cause he's sure he's last.
Steve Bannon interfaced between the twain
and stoked each ego, keeping them apart.
As soon as he'd cast off the Cruz campaign,
he trimmed his sails and took this putz to heart.
Competing masters tug the dummy's strings.
We'll know their names when Mueller's witness sings.

Analytica

The Mercer-Bannon axis shows the strain
as each is linked to Alexander Nix
'twas less big data driving Trump's campaign,
and more Dick Nixon's school of dirty tricks.
These plumbers delved offshore their pirate lair
beyond the reach of Robert Mueller's writ.
But rule-of-law's got allies over there.
And Analytica's in British shit.
It's not the best of brains that Donald's got,
and not the platform one'd show off in town.
But Bannon manufactures kompromat;
where Trump can't soar, he'll tear the whole field down.
Elections were corrupted from abroad,
but Putin's prints are nowhere on this fraud.

machinations

Who knows what Kellyanne believes at heart?
She'll advocate for Mercer's darkest whim.
To practice law, one has to play the part
and Robert's hired her mouth to speak for him.
Sincerity's the key in politics
for which a frontman's weighed, and bought, and sold.
The public hated Spicer's nervous tics.
When you can fake sincerity, you're gold!
Not long ago, she would have sold us Cruz
dissecting Trump the grifter that he is.
But Mercer calculated Ted must lose
And Donald fitted better with his biz.
A useful puppet, cloaking Mercer's hand
sings hymns to Trump--until Pence gets her canned.