Tuesday, August 3, 2021
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Christmas Day in the Workhouse, 2020

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IT was Christmas Day in the workhouse
The parish guardian searched his soul  

And grudgingly fed the fire  

With a second lump of coal  

Hands gelled and faces covered,
In a socially-distanced line
The paupers sat at the tables
For this was the hour to dine.

The Cabinet and their flunkeys,
Not embarrassed in the least,
Arrived in chauffeured limousines
To watch the wretches feast.
They’d lunched well at the Savoy Grill  

On honeyed ham, thick-carved  

And had brought a bag of leftovers  

To distribute to the starved.  

The paupers meek and lowly  

Scrabbled for the scraps.  

Boris back-slapped his cohorts  

Saying: ‘Cripes! Well done, you chaps  

We’ve just eaten out to help out  

And a thousand quid we paid  

But we can put that on expenses  

As humanitarian aid.’  

Then one old man he cried out  

His plate he shoved aside  

Saying: ‘You lousy, bloody hypocrites  

I can no more abide.’  

The flunkeys gazed in horror  

Boris’s face went pale  

But the old man sternly shouted:  

‘Shut up and hear my tale.  

‘I had a lovely country pub  

The Dog & Duck ’twas named,  

Its beer was of the finest  

Its ambience rightly famed  

Then I served some Scotch eggs  

And the Covid cops came round  

Saying: “This is no substantial meal”  

And the bastards closed me down  

‘My son a snack bar built up  

O’er many years of toil  

He thought he had a future  

That nothing could now spoil  

Then customers no more came  

As work-from-home unfolded  

His butties curled, his cakes went stale  

And unsold pasties mouldered.  

‘My daughter’s fashion store went bust  

The lockdown sent trade slipping  

Everyone bought on Amazon  

(Especially with free shipping).  

She tried her best to stay afloat  

Even mannequins were furloughed  

But nothing she could do or say  

Could help to lighten her load  

‘Ministers, your cock-ups  

Have made our future ugly,  

But with pensions, shares, directorships  

You’ll all be sitting smugly.  

You’re criminally responsible  

For one of history’s greatest farces  

So take your luncheon leavings  

And stick them up your (Coronavirus Act 2020: Redacted by order under emergency powers)  

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Weaver Sheridan
Weaver Sheridan is a wannabe best-selling novelist, one of his efforts being the Fifties Franny series, available on Amazon Kindle books.

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