A HELLISH ENCOUNTER

 

The furnaces were roaring

With a foul and sulphurous smell

The damned were being tortured –

Just another day in Hell.

The air was full of ghastly screams

And soul-destroying moans

When above the dreadful clamour

Rose some shrill suburban tones…

 

‘So messy! And so smelly!

And so awfully, awfully hot!

And all you do is torture –

That puts nothing in the pot!

I’ll close down all your furnaces

Your unproductive ways

And build a brand new call centre –

A Purgatory that pays!’

 

The Devil dropped his pitchfork

And put on his coat and hat.

‘I don’t mind facing Jesus

But I can’t compete with that!’

But the damned and all the goblins

Pleaded ‘Lucifer, don’t go!’

Stay and help us in our fight -

Better the Devil that we know!’

 

So they voted him shop steward

And he led a demonstration

While Thatcher glared and tutted

In mad, impotent frustration.

Then they made some massive banners

In huge letters: ‘COAL NOT DOLE’!

‘NOT ONE SINGLE FURNACE CLOSURE!’

‘GO TO HEAVEN, TORY TROLL!’

 

Now Tomas de Torquemada

Held a centuries-old position

As editor of Hell’s newspaper:

The Daily Inquisition.

So Thatcher went to him and said

‘I need some press support.

It always does my bidding.

Here’s some text for your report!’

 

But Tomas said ‘Can’t help you -

‘Cos, Satan, he’s my mate!

You know I’ve served him faithfully

Since 1498…’

So she yelled upstairs to Murdoch:

‘Rupert, time for you to die!

I need you down here urgently!’

But there was no reply.

 

Then the Devil came in glory

Brian Clough at his right hand

And in tones to shatter marble

He roared: ‘Margaret, you are banned!

Hell’s a worker-run collective

Self-sufficient, closely-knit.

We don’t need your poxy meddling.

I condemn you to the pit!

 

But, first, I’ll reunite you

With the one you love the most.

He was hiding in the coal hole.

He was dressed up as a ghost.

Said he DIDN’T WANT to see you!

Said to PLEASE keep him away!

But you’re here now, aren’t you, Denis?

Bid your lady wife good day…..

 

They were loaded in the lift shaft

And soon they were gone from sight

And heading for an awful place

Of pain and endless night

And you’re not going to believe this

‘Twas such awful, rotten luck -

 But half way down the endless pit

The Thatchers’ lift got stuck...

 

So fight for social justice

And build a better world

And bury her foul legacy

With red banners unfurled

And heed the final message

Of this cautionary verse

Or you could end up like Denis.

 

I can think of nothing worse.