The Ides of March – a poem

I met BREXIT on the way looking like Theresa May. Very sure she looked, yet grim: her ‘backstop’ caused endless pain.

The ticking clock wouldn’t stop.

The countdown wore a frown. And then a horrendous gong struck: ‘Beware the Ides of March’!

A long shadow crossed my path; what it was I couldn’t say. All I know is what I felt: I may always rue this day.