Wringing the washing through a mangle. Soapy tears by her bare feet.
Consoles her child to breast Christmas morn.
A two fold job, she’s keeping them warm.
Happy new year! Her solemn eyes swell.
She leans into his cheek ‘all will be well’
I’m sorry, I failed. I have nothing to give.
If we can’t earn then how can we live?
Balancing the books on a knife edge. Drowning in whisky he can’t afford.
Cardboard board games hand made.
He sold his carpentry tools yesterday to provide.
Mows the neighbours lawn. Digs up twelve tree’s.
Purchases the cream he rubs into her knee’s.
Wringing the life from the balanced books of good people whilst dining on lobster.
Consoles the masses to keep them calm, a two fold job. They own more homes.
Cardboard truths written with the cost of sold tools.
Happy new year! All will be well.
I’ve chosen your freedom, that’s not mine to sell.
I’m sorry you failed, but why should we give?
If you can’t earn this is how you should live.
Copyright G.P Williamson 2014