The children are hungry and cold;
there's no money left on the fuel card.
To eat, their mother has to go to the food bank;
she seldom eats much, saving it for the children.
Her husband is on a Zero Hours Contract,
but has no work most weeks;
no work means no pay; no pay means no money.
He doesn't qualify for Employment Allowance
because he is employed; on paper.
The snow comes that morning and the children
stay away from school;
they really like school but their wellingtons
are too small for their feet now,
there's no money to buy new ones.
In the hallowed halls of Westminster,
in those historic corridors where the
great and the powerful walked,
there's a trail of those going to have their afternoon tea,
subsidised afternoon tea
for why should MPs pay full price?
After all, they're ruining the country,
Oh, sorry, running the country;
running it into the ground, I think;
running away from the real needs of the poor,
the homeless, the hungry, the old and the sick.
Food banks don't serve afternoon tea;
Food banks feed those who are hungry;
Homeless making shelters of cardboard
to sleep in?
They don't need to do that you know,
it's all done to get notice.
After another day spent arguing about Brexit
MPs make their way home in their chauffeur-driven cars,
some of them to their second home.
No need for them to call at a food bank on the way home;
no need to worry about a fuel card,
their homes are well-heated to keep out the cold;
no need to worry about where the next meal's coming from;
No one worries about that these days,
especially if you live in 21st Century Britain,
trying to exist on Universal Credit.