“Kelly”, a new poem sent into us by the ever prolific Kevin Higgins. Any resemblance to a Minister for the Environment is entirely coincidental apparently.
“He has balls”, a Labour Party source
The clasp of his handshake once reassured prospective mothers-in-law he’d not disappoint their daughters. And though his infrastructure’s in desperate need of an upgrade, he’s confident he can get his waterworks fit for purpose, ladies and gentlemen, here tonight, and those at home watching on TV, sometime within the next twenty five years. And if doing so
involves flogging every last rain drop, from Bellmullet to Garryduff, at a savage discount, to the guy who despite his wallet’s ongoing morbid obesity, has hair that looks like it’s been stuck to the skull with Evo-stick, then Kelly’s the kind of pragmatist who’ll make shit like that happen, whether anyone asked it to or not.
His tongue rough as the carpet in a room where Stevie Coughlan once talked against the Jews. For the past six months, every erection he’s had has been a member of the Heavy Gang about to throw a Provo onto the railings from a Garda Station second storey window.
According to recent polls, in certain areas of Tipperary, he’s only slightly less popular than Richard the Third. At least half a percent less hated than this time last week. Of unequivocal victory, he has no alternative but to be certain.