Wrecks, Lies and Inebriates

Here is a poem written around the last Tory recession. There will plenty more of this. Poems about benefit cuts that is.

Wrecks, Lies and Inebriates

Good Morning Sir, How can I help you?
Said the lady behind the glass.
A need a loan fur a bed Mrs.
Cos A’ve no goat wan at ma Ma’s

And where are you sleeping now Sir?
She asked him with a grouch.
Well, if ma Ma’s no full o the swally,
A usually kip oan the couch.

And how did this situation arise, Sir?
I mean, where did you sleep before,
Well before ma Ma jiled Big Boabbie
A hud tae sleep oan the floor.

Well I’m sorry to inform you, Sir
We can’t give you a loan for a bed.
Fair enough, furget it then
Gie me wan furra cooker instead.

So you lack cooking facilities, Sir
I mean can’t you not have hot food?
Naw, no fur two or three weeks noo,
No since the meter got screwed.

But surely the Gas Board will mend it Sir,
I can’t see how the couldn’t
Aye, ma Ma asked them to fix it
Bit because A screwed it, they wouldn’t

I think your wasting my time sir
Her face now turning red,
But, the only reason A tanned it,
Wis tae get the money furra bed.

So what did you do with the cash, Sir?
That you acquired somewhat ignobly.
A used it tae help a guy in need,
A used it tae bail oot Big Boabbie

And in what circumstances did it arise Sir
That Big Boabbie needed you aid?
When ma ma seen the empty meter,
It wis Big Boabbie that done it A said.

I‘m sorry I can’t proceed Sir
You’ll have to sort out your life.
Thanks fur nuthin then ya bastard
A’ll jist go back tae the wife

Wait, one moment , Sir,
Your name it’s on this report.
A’m due somethin then, Thank Christ
No Sir it’s those kids your meant to support.

and another not about recession

The Eye of the Beholder

The teeth protrude
Not even cutely
Acutely
at an angle
Discussed in algebra
equating awkwardly
infesting the whole body
not to be shown
in the gym
amongst the beauty
of the beholders
who smiled
When
I
laughed in school
in French
Today

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