Miliband minor

With the kind of wave that says, ‘hi’

young Edward turns down the flame to blue

You know, he says, I’m your kind of guy

that’s what I think and so do you.

The too well-pressed suit and strange hair.

The dark staring eyes and awkward pose

form a question – Redwood or Blair?

In the faint blue glow from a silver rose

the faithful punctuate his artful speech

applaud politely each careful glissando.

A curious camera plays on each

as they rise to his awkward crescendo.

A debating club nerd, one would have said –

no blood in his veins. At this rate, Ed is dead.