Tuesday, 16 June 2009

A Poem, On a Sill

On a Sill
A jaunt on a sill,
Overlooking an
Underground station;
So much time to kill.

Unemployed, useless,
Unskilled labour waits
For plants or mills;
I.Q. regardless.

Ten an hour to start
At eighteen was a
Princely fortune to
Those strong but not smart.

The blood and sweat stains
Wait for a machine
To break so they can
Feel work in their veins.

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