I can’t go anywhere these days
without the paparazzi snapping me
in the desperate clutch
of some sour-breathed hopeful.

There I’ll be, minding my own business,
staring contently at cloud formations
when a vulture swoops from out of the blue
and carries me up like a helpless shrew.

It’s not me they’re interested in,
it’s what I represent. Unlike them,
I’m innocent, The Future free from impurity.
They scoop me up without impunity.

I guess what I’m trying to say,
is that when they pucker up and kiss me,
I’m no longer just a three-month old,
I’m a photo opportunity.

I shall be seeking political immunity.