Sonnet On Electoral Apathy Poem by tim woodhouse

I can't recall the P.M.'s name,
Grey men in suits with merging faces,
Every one of them the same -
Soon my memory misplaces
Any reasons why we vote
For fat, corrupt and vile cheats,
Lining pockets with bank notes
As I regress, decline, retreat
Into a golden apathy
Of drink and poor attempts at sex,
Soaps and football on T.V.,
State benefits that I expect
To fund a lifestyle that's free -
What has this country done for me? !

I wrote this for a poetry exercise on sonnets set by Stephen Fry in his book The Ode Less Travelled - isn't he just an all-round clever-clogs? !