A working class
a premature fat flabby high carb bad teeth death
there were cigarettes involved
(Here of course, you may sadly shake your head)
The debris from the jobs she’d had proliferated till the house
bled rubbish like a moist grey tumour
some bastard nicked the gate
some other fucker tapped the house at night a wanting skins
the walls were wilting
all while my brother slept on in his spaceship/pit shrunk weasel-eyed with hiding from his zero hours
we had to sell the house.
some flash twat with a wodge of wonga
snapped it up to turn it into flats.
So he’ll sit pretty
in his Audi – fletching through the housing benefit he’ll get
for four skint addicts battery farmed instead
and tut about the dough-faced layabouts he ‘keeps’ with taxes
and he’ll vote Tory.