Unwelfare Reform

A poetic tirade directed at a political figure held responsible by many for so much woe.

Image Credit: 
United States Coast Guard / Public Domain

The system is broke with just one man at fault,
as proverbial horses escape through a gate with no bolt.
So who needs to own up, be counted and come clean,
step up to the rostrum, be honest and seen?
Is it billion dollar companies with their avoidance of taxes
or unqualified ministers making cuts with blunt axes?
Searching for fraudsters from our public purse,
really just offering untimely rides in a hearse.
Rides for the needy and vulnerable among you,
the sick and disabled, yes the ones that have been through
so many battles, too many to list,
looking for answers though a government mist.
Their pain is compacted by relentless attacks
from the ministers they elected to watch their backs.
Even the badgers had limits on those culled,
so what are your limits for the sick and the old?
How many more will die from a failed welfare reform?
They are abandoned and languishing defeated and forlorn.
Now you can sit on your heels and deny the results,
insisting “I didn’t do this” or it’s not your fault.
Here’s an idea of how to sort this quick-style,
we can join more liars on Jeremy Kyle.
Where you can sit sullen faced after a polygraph test,
merely pleading your innocence and you “Did your best.”
Kyle will start to yell and then proceed to a scream,
“You are reducing support” and “Where have you been?”
“You are useless and remiss in your duty of care,
of those you begged to elect you there.”
He will accuse you of lying time and again,
the audience will boo as you try to hide from your shame.
You search for some decency and your nerves start to twerk,
as Kyle quips quickly, “Don’t worry about them, they should be at work.”
Then Jez gestures for the questions, expecting true answers,
you are about to be uncovered as a liar and a chancer.
Question 1, it’s real simple: “Is your resume fake?”
Question 2 follows quickly: “Are you on the take?”
Question 3: “Did you and your boss bow down to capitalistic demands,
and how will you wash all our blood off your hands?”
Your face starts to fall but no tears fall out,
snot-bubbles form and then pop as you pout.
Still no tears as you wipe your snout and sniff.
You very nearly killed me,
Mr Ian Duncan Smith.

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Performance poet Stefan Gambrell, also known as the Neanderthal Bard, has been tearing it a new arsehole for the last few years.

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