John Ward – Christmas Day In The Workhouse, 2029 – 26 December 2014

at the postscript to reform:

the occupants all huddled round

the telly to keep warm.

The youngest programme on the box

from forty years or more

depicted archetypes that they

had never seen before.

Dancing girls with kicking legs

and midgets with but one

paraded on the screen while

double-acts opined upon

the shortcomings of mothers-in-law,

rappers, and the twee

attempts to make us all believe

that we should be pc.

The Workhouse viewers stared in horror

as they now discerned

that all the things they thought so cruel

were said by those concerned

to help the People understand

that bad times came soon after

denial of the need to judge ourselves

in fits of laughter.

And all these stars from decades past,

they smiled from their eyes:

Ken Goodwin, Jasper Carrot,

Eric Morecambe, Ernie Wise….

there were no gender targets

nor the cringing euphemism,

no quotas for disabled gays,

no tracts on feminism:

no slogans praising fracking and

no loud robotic cries

insisting Brits were better off

and very soon the prize

for all those who were well-behaved

and loyal to dear Blighty

would find enrichment in a multi

cultural society

Where none of us must laugh at

a minority religion

or sing about birds in a pie

and upset every pigeon.

But all this forced equality

seemed mainly to be fuel

to justify the act

of seeming kind while being cruel.

So in the Neoliberal Home

for Banged-up Bloggers’ Kids

the sad inmates began to ask

why every day their bids

for forty minutes zero hours

employment in the sewer

seemed to earn them less and less –

and mean they all got fewer

opportunities to save some cash

then find a place to live

and not be told by overseers

that they must always give

eternal thanks for market forces

helping them get by

for surely without that they’d all

be on the streets and die –

or truly ghastly paedos from

the evil BBC

would snatch them up with promises

of buttered toast for tea.

“Those comics from the programmes past,”

said one child with delight

“although their jokes was incorrect

yer somehow fink they’re right”.

They ran down filthy halls
into the rooms of Master Baiter
owner of the home
installed by G4S then later
allowed to buy the wreck himself
from Welfare plc
and serve the children condemned meat
while spending his bounty
on all the things the inmates now
could see upon his plates:
foie gras, caviar
and roasted goose with honeyed dates.
Across the table also they saw
Ofkids Chief Inspector
tucking into rib of beef
just like Hannibal Lector.
Then came the moment many
have awaited now for years,
when anger finally replaced
those self-indulgent tears:
when scales fell from the eyes
and inmates fell upon the Keeper,
and Master Baiter soon enough
was sent to meet The Reaper.
The moral of this story is
that be you Left or Right
the spin that you’ve been serving up
is equal in the shite
it dumps upon the citizens
to leave them cynical….
until one day the penny drops
and then they kill you all.
Peace on Earth and goodwill to all Men / link to original article

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