WORK ‘TIL YOUR GRAVE

You WILL work till you’re 70,
all you sloggers.
My government can’t afford
to pay you a pension,
and I’d like to mention
I need my expenses
and recompenses.
And those poor young things
pushing buggies and things
need food
and fags
and we need to support the dads
(if we know who they are) .
Asylum seekers,
foreign speakers,
benefit tweakers
and the like
need a hike
into comfortable living.
So you’ll need to be giving
your ALL
for all.
Poor dears,
no jobs or careers,
they can’t live on fresh air, you know.
So off you go,
work till the grave.
We will shave
every penny off you.
I have people to support
and I don’t want to be short
of a bob or two myself.

Gordon Black, MP.
Just off to claim my expenses. I’m entitled to mortgage payments on my mansion…em I mean house…in London. And I need to carpet my house in the country. My cars need replacing and how could I do all that on a measly MP’s wages, I ask you?

FRANCESCA JOHNSON

Can’t find anything about the poet, but her poem says what I am feeling.