My husband's forty five today
Wishing his birthday far way
Six years now without a job
Tarred and featered as a yob
Restart letters in the post
He gets more of them than most
You would think that he didn't try
While the jobs just pass him by
In the post along with that
Another knock back turned down flat
Thank you for your interest here
The post is filled, try next year
We're here to help you if we can
We will just destroy your man
Major sits in Number Ten
Warm and cosy in his den
His job's safe, his brass is there
He's no need to give a care
Get the peasants back to work
Thatcher puppets, what a jerk!
International Rescue's here
Says the Master Puppeteer
I'll get Britain banged to rights
Pull the belt in, money's tight
I;ll wipe the Third World debts away
I've got loads of cash today
My expenses just came through
Meanwhile now I'm telling you
Take a job in any hole
Otherwise we'll stop your dole
Even seventy pounds take home
That's a fortune, don't you moan
Might be only change to me
But you must keep your family
On peanuts till you find a job
Afterall, you're just a yob
The country's full of idle men
With no pride left to start again.

Poem by Barbara Jones

"The Bentilean" endeavours to be a non-Party publication, but in such a safe seat as Bentilee, it's inevitable that most of our writers will have a left-wing {or, at least, non-Conservative} bias. However, as someone who's only been able to get college courses, unpaid voluntary work, and government "employment" schemes {anything but a job}, I couldn't resist this poem by Bentilean, and Willfield Open Learner, Barbara Jones.

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Copyright The Bentilean 1999

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