The Chancellor claimed the bright idea her own,
Born from a quarrel on the telephone.
After that fateful budget, when the Commons grew bold,
The nation fell silent, socials no longer scrolled.
A silver bullet for dear old Blighty,
Tariffs slapped on the mouths of the almighty.
Free speech was over. Literally. A penny a word,
Never again would Hopkins be heard.
Some swore they’d resist, some took the piss,
Tears as bank accounts slid into the abyss.
HMRC, ruthless and indiscriminate,
They delivered the law in recyclable laminate.
A logical conclusion to the era of capitalism,
Monetise the debate, profit from schism.
Too much of a good thing, that’s what they said,
Best keep your thoughts in your own fucking head.
Still, it’s not all bad,
Some couples are quite glad.
It’s peace and quiet unimaginable to most,
From six thousand words a day, to a silent nod if you want toast.
Is this the end? It’s too soon to tell,
Wait till they realise they can stick a tax on smell.
By Louis Urbanowski – Inspired by the prompt ‘When Free Speech Goes Wrong’
Stories by Louis Urbanowski 