A Very English Bank

There are checks here, but only to ensureThe ones scraping the barrel can enjoyThe dividend of a full belly.Our Theresa insists there are manyComplex reasons folk frequent a bankNo respectable church-goer wouldBe seen dead in – ‘the horror! The horror!’And that smooth, oily stick: Rees-Mogg,Stirs the gunge of his imaginationInforming the world that food banksAre monuments to good old English fair play.Nothing to do with the pampered fewWho live in a Belmont with Portia’s ghost.But never in the field of human endeavourHave so few taken so much from so many.And the New Jerusalem hymn whichShould be sung with gusto at The PromsMight ring out exhorting the many whoSend their children hungry to school,To give them a bow of burning goldAnd arrows to pierce the hearts of the menWho spit upon the souls of the poor.