Well you can be a private servant
Or a public serf
Who’s undervalued; underpaid…
If you’re paid at all, that is.
Unemployed – maybe disabled –
Harried, hurried, stressed, dependent
On “discretionary” gifts.
Well you can be an earnest striver
Or a bored and feckless skiver
And divided you may think you be
But in reality, you’re neither.
None of us counts for a jot –
It matters not:
We’re all in Cameron’s parking lot.
You might have means and modest wealth;
Be blessed with lucky, happy health;
Feel overtaxed and unimpressed
And yet accept this quietly enough
While you sit comfortably –
As though by “Grace of God”
If it’s not them, will it be me…?
It makes no difference though, you see:
If young or old or in between;
From Left to Right or non-believer,
None of us scores well there either.
It matters not, for profit by despair:
Their rules, their game –
They DO NOT care.
What you have to be is cream –
Clotted, whipped and double thick,
Risen, separate and rich.
While the rest of us are skimmed
Of all we have and hope and dare to dream.
All flattened by the fattened hands
Made victims of the dark ‘Wasteland’.
The real Reality is stark –
We’ve all been parked.