Planning Poem by Edwin Hopper

Power up and click the icon on my screen,
and see the minutes of my brand new lies.
Meetings where I bully shout and preen,
make deals and swindle power to rise.

I pretend to be wise and prophetic,
as I search plan permissions and sleuth.
But you know I want pay back and profit,
and I care very little for truth.

Young mums, know I'm a creep, and they laugh,
till they can't get a flat, then they weep.
When their grand dads go mad, I'm not daft.
They sell mansions to me on the cheap.

I'm a big fish in this parish pond,
so I work hard on planning and contacts,
and of course my word is almost my bond,
just so long as I get building contracts.

But now, this, freedom of information.
Damned fool girl making those suggestions.
I know there won't be litigation.
She wants shooting for asking those questions.

I could be king of infinite self esteem,
were it not that I have bad dreams.