For the love of Jeremy Corbyn

Oh Jeremy Corbyn, that we can follow your politics
through logic and fairness and sense makes us yours.

That your clothes all look like hand me downs,
that you are the sad clown at the circus shuffling papers
that you don’t smirk when the ringmaster whips his own arse
that you look down when the camera cashes in.

That your eyes are weak from reading policy revisions
by the poor light of the night bus,
that what you care about is written on your forehead in placards
that you have dug concrete for kids to grow runner beans.

That you don’t silk noose your own neck,
or sing along to someone elses anthem 
in a church built to someone else’s belief,
but instead bow your head and listen to difference.

That you want the railways as one whole cog system
that you care about the share on people’s plates
that you think Trident is an expensive sparkler at a firework display
that you open conversations left too long pressure canned
and let the bloody fish out.

That you offer sandwiches out of Tupperware on trains,
wear jumpers made by your mum,
that you think the circus could be kinder
that the big top be ours
that the centre of your party see a scarecrow on a cliff

Oh Jeremy Corbyn, you man of grit and digestive biscuits,
rainy afternoons and charity shop volunteering-
we will make you a military of pigeons
an army of eagles –
a feast out of food banks
a placard of skin
we will anoint you in Ecover
hew you a badger drawn sled
we will settle your troops with fair trade bananas -
walk with you to the top of the mountain
and there, like the hundred wars you have already bled in
already held your feet firm against cliffs -
we will grow beards, accumulate cable knits,
fill our bellies with sandwiches and wait doggedly, doggedly for the battle to begin.