The Poor paying for the Rich

He looked into his wallet and then into the face of his children.

Oliver looked out from their faces, thinned and paled by hunger,

Their sad eyes looked at  under woolly hats and coat covered arm hugs.

His eyes watered and his empty belly grumbled as he opened

the last dull can of beans, cut the crust of curling bread into two,

watched the food disappear into hungry mouths opened like nesting chicks.

Not far away, plates were full with succulent salmon, rare steak, 

beef, chicken  vegetables, fried potatoes and mashed spuds, followed

by golden custard, french named cakes, apple pies and salted chocolate ices.

—-

Somewhere a mother scraped small crumbs from her sons bowl, sucking

them from the poor plastic spoon. In her head imagining the eggs tomorrow,

when the reduced Universal credit arrived, a meal, heat, then rancid bin search.

Not far away, a kitchen door ajar, while out of date food is thrown away,

in the waste; while far away, the icy hearted are having a party at number 10,

half eaten rich food slipped in a bin. They take from the poor to give to the rich.

—-

Clean, loved children crying themselves to sleep, hunger gnawing at their vitals,

holding onto the hope for tomorrow they’d be in heaven, food galore at the FoodBank,

bringing home food in plenty to be eked slowly to cover the schoolless, foodless weeks.

Miles away lives a callous rich man who can choose to give them enough or kill

them slowly by starvation and a rich woman minister who chooses to treat them as 

alien pariahs, ignores the council of the wise, ignores deadly hunger, abuse and trafficking.

—–

Truth may come, but already the lies hold sway, the government culled the media.

So, how will the hungry children have their voices heard? The starving, the weakened

the oppressed, hidden from sight, are crying out, lost in the lies trumpeted out by Tory press.

======

Yes, minister, the numbers in poverty are atrocious 

but we are doing what we can, watch us.

We’ve paid the rich and they are wealthy too. 

Tis tricky, the trickle down effect?

‘It won’t.’ A lie from long ago. 

The poor are always with us – but they

don’t

donate

to

our

party.

Party time for some!

Its party time for clowns,

jumping around he laughs,

drinking long deep draughts,

while they giggle o’er jokes and  their gaffes.

—-

Outside the folk stay in,

the rules for others thin,

no invitations in the nation

apart for the leading loon and his pally kin.

——

jostling and singing along,

playing games of ping pong

with the hearts of the nation.

Happy Christmas to us in Lockdown’s their song.

——–

I can’t get my medication

I can’t get my favourite snack

I can’t get my Christmas treat,

because it’s sold out and we will adjust to the lack.

——-

I am sitting in a cold room 

‘cos gas is rare and dear,

I can’t visit my family ‘cos

that blasted mutating virulent virus is very near.

——

The NHS is overwhelmed,

the waiting lists are long,

the staff tired and exhausted

busting their guts while no 10 revels along.

——-

You partied, you Brexited

and took your time to Lock

down. We pay in hungry kids,

cold houses and even toddlers toys are out of stock.

So, stop grinning and

face the facts that your

miserable acts and greedy

pacts are disastrous, derisory and break the law..