• C. Peters

A Revolution of the Times - Part 1.1

Updated: May 22

If history repeats itself then the future rhymes; this is a Revolution of the Times.


In this satirical political rhyme, Ed Bodkin only remembers the future.

As time and space unravel in a Westminster pub, Ed recalls the revolution that Britain is yet to have and his part in it…


1.1

"Am I mad or dead?" Ed said, to himself, putting down what he'd read,

He was in an old pub in Westminster, going through the newspaper,

There was not a single thing in there that he could remember,

He found that any memory of the past, unusually did not last,

Short memories stayed only briefly but then died gradually,

While the future on the other hand, was another thing entirely,

Extraordinarily, bizarrely, maybe uniquely, he could see that visibly,

As misty as a memory, like a recollection, or more a pre-collection,

For which he had no explanation, nor was it any form of prediction,

He was confident he knew what would happen, as if it had happened,

He had not imagined, he knew, sure it was true, this future view,

Was what he could see, what he could seer, as real as the beer,

Which he was drinking, sinking into him, crisp, deep and amber,

Peering around the room, a saloon full of fellow Wesminster bubblers,

All of which hung round the inns of Whitehall like dung beetles do do-do,

This so-so tavern was no exception, faux Georgian fittings, to be renewed,

At present tired and tatty, but in a few months they would look brand new,

The renovation would see the loos done-up too, but right now they seeped –

Something he dreaded to guess, as he sipped his stale ale that smelt like feet,

But at least in this tatty tavern he could find a seat and not stood on the street,

Then into the cavern walked somebody he knew, or would knew – know,

Elizabeth Lowe, new MP for Walthamstow, attractive... as politicians go,

With high cheekbones and a sharp nose, brunette, nicely dressed,

"Best bum in politics", said The Moon in its boorish quest to be sensationalist,

Or they would say, that sexist headline was still quite a while away,

For Lizzy Lowe, as she would often go, wasn't yet very well known,

At least Ed believed she wasn't, such was his knowledge of the present,

Skewed by his sort-of memories of what he could see, from what was yet to be,

The MP looked, quite remarkably, happy, such was her wide-eyes and laughter,

Following her, giggling with her, was man so handsome he looked like an actor,

But they were not together, or at least weren’t meant to be, not officially,

For Ed was aware they were or will be carrying out a secret affair, eventually,

For tonight might have been just been the brewing of their sexual chemistry,

The spark, the attraction, an innocent remark, an innocent infraction,

Like a touch, as she padded his arm, not much, but not absent of intention,

Ed knew the man was a corporate lobbyist called Hugh, such was his intuition,

Ed also knew Hugh’s looks were in lieu of his intellect, lack of intelligence,

And, not without consideration, would have been a considerable inheritance,

Not only of wealth, for Lizzy Lowe was not so low, but of English eloquence,

As well as his height, his chiselled features, broad shoulders, and manner,

That would have been bestowed on him while brought up in a country manor,

It was not without both envy and resentment that Ed witnessed their enamour,

It was not that Ed wished to be Elizabeth’s Lowe of Walthamstow’s paramore,

Although he did hold for her such an ardour, it was more the remorse,

That he’d end their relationship for ever more, sever passion’s course,

He reminded himself that it would all be for a greater cause, but worse,

That not just their romance would die but he would live with the curse,

Of knowing that to kill the affair Ed must consider what he couldn’t revert,

And the lover of the dead other could never show how much they hurt,

For this perverse course of adverse events that Ed expected to unfold,

Would see Ed do things so bold, often so cold, such would be his role,

In a world that no-one would expect except he, who could see it whole,

For Elizabeth Lowe, MP for Walthamstow, would become Prime Minister,

A mother of two, wife of an older doctor, to rule the Palace of Westminster,

Who’d lead the revolution of our times, which would be told in this rhyme…


See Part 1.2

See Prologue




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