Austerity by Rose Drew

I am not a silent poet

Austerity is such a spacious word:
Surely too many vowels?
Profligate use of letters
when few are needed.
We must cut waste where possible.

Now, THERE’S a proper word:
Grim. Unsmiling. Harsh. Rigid. Severe.
Cold as an unheated apartment,
unsmiling as death from an empty belly
(in this land of plenty. Not talking about sand dunes)
rigid as sanctimonious sanctions, designed to
put peasants in their proper place,
grateful for crumbs.

We’re too wealthy to suffer
from any tiny downturn
post Brexit
(though, how to blame impoverished angry yoof for the next bomb?
if we slash all aide?)
too poor to share with Europe:
the doublespeak spins my mind,
headache builds,

hospitals close;
autistic lad hungry, his benefits cut
cos he missed an unexpected JobCentre visit;
amputee forced to walk
to the non-bus stop (routes eliminated)
after her Mobility car removed;

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