The prompt this week from Mum Turned Mom is 'choice', and I'm choosing to take part with a poem about the difficulty in choosing, and Scottish politics. Politics! Sex and religion will follow (and have gone before).
The Scottish election is coming up on Thursday, and I'm looking forward to voting. I know what I'm planning on putting on my polling forms, but I'll try not to put any subliminal advertising into this post (I won't change the colour of the background to influence you either). I know that my vote is a drop in the ocean, and I'm happy that that's the case in Scotland. I really like the Scottish Parliament, I think it works brilliantly, if you're wondering about the difference between that and the Westminster Parliament, just compare the Westminster PMQs with the Scottish FMQs (you'll find them on YouTube).
Anyway, enough wittering, on with the poem. I was trying for a sonnet, but I ended up with a different rhyme scheme. It's just what the poem wanted to do!
It's said that choice can cause us stress.
Too much to like: This coat. That dress.
And every choice must then be lived.
A Hobson's Choice* might be a gift!
Or throw the choices on the fire
and dance around in night attired...
But sometimes choices must be made:
Which politician makes the grade?
The yellow? Red? The green? Or blue?
You choose within the polling booth.
I know my choices: sun and grass,
but can't predict how it will pass.
For everybody has a say
(let's hope we don't go England's way).
In bonnie Scotland I've no fear:
the leaders are good people here.
I will be glad to see them stay
Yes, even Ruth could make my day!
Yet overshadowed is this poll:
'Vote Brexit!' Cries the floppy fool.
If that on the horizon be,
Scotland will face Indyref III.
We'll put the Union to the test
joining our voices to shout 'YES'.
© Cara L McKee 3/5/16
*if, like me, you're unsure as to what a Hobson's choice is - it's the choice between what's available or nothing at all.