‘Who’s that trip-trip-trapping over my bridge?’
snarls a troll
with a twitch
and a shout
leaping up and out
onto the decking
fully expecting
to be collecting
his toll

‘It is I, PR Goat Gruff’
says a goat, looking glam
in the medallion of a ram
an astrakhan coat
and other things of equal note
his hooves covered in glittery tat
his horns pushed up through his bowler hat

‘I’ll gobble you up!’ snarls the troll
suddenly not looking certain at all
scratching his head, his arse,
‘I’m not supposed to let anyone past!’
‘Love it! Adorable!’ says PR goat.
‘You totally get my vote.
You’ve got a job and you do it.’
The troll shrugs
gives his wig a tug
‘I get through it
Some days better than others.
But I’ve got this fetish about udders.’
‘Let’s stroll’
says the goat
leading the troll
over the moat
to the other side
where the goat confides
about politics & exit polls
banknotes & boltholes
security files & payrolls
loopholes, media controls
and the dead sea scrolls
‘where my Ts and Cs are writ!’
laughs the goat, quite a bit
‘What?’ says the troll, not getting it

Fast forward three goat years
The troll appears
in parliament
leader of the government
‘Friends! Goats! Countrymen!’ he roars
as troll police lock all the doors
and he grabs the parliamentary mace
swinging it about the place
‘Whoever crosses me gets THIS in the face!’
‘That’s my troll!’ smiles PR goat
then exits down the Thames in a boat