Enrobed in scarlet, tricorn hatted,
Wearing a lace jabot and chain,
This the parting Lord Mayor’s Swan Song,
Drawn out fond farewells whilst wearing
Regalia for one last time,
Then the hard part, handing over,
Retreating to oblivion.
Now the new Lord Mayor is honoured,
With loud and lavish words of praise,
Uttered as if they really meant it,
By friends and enemies alike.
Then a short break for enrobing,
Photographs and interviews,
While guests and members take a break.
We in our finery, competing,
In our most expensive outfits,
Shoes shone bright, some heads be-hatted,
Meticulous and picture perfect,
Mundane people turned to peacocks,
Rising to this strange occasion,
Gracing it with dignity.
The new Lord Mayor, enrobed and tricorned,
Makes a long and measured speech,
Political in style and content,
One more rule shot down in flames,
Now the farewells to the departing
Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress,
Yet more fine words and fond farewells.
Luminaries, louts and luddites,
Husbands and wives, children and partners,
Past Mayors, Lord Bishops, Dignitaries,
High ranking, uniformed armed forces,
Senior Policemen, men in wigs,
Preside over a short-term truce.
Later at the self-same meeting,
Re-convened without the guests,
Battle boundaries re-esatblished,
The bitter War of words resumed,
Unkind words, unending conflict,
Motions, amendments, speeches, votes,
The Boys Club game of politics.
Egoists clash with status sabres,
Cut-and-thrusting, fight for power,
Back-room moves rehearsed in secret,
Wheeling, dealing, making bets,
Ever changing plans & plotting,
Feed the fight to steal the limelight,
At the Council’s AGM.
© Lynne Joyce May 2002.