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Personal Note:

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Poem

I, the blue-eyed, bright haired reprobate,
A product of the nanny state,
raised on free-to-air TV 
and value cans of rice pudding,
lament the current climate
on a tiresome bus ride home,
glasses fogged from temperature change and
watch the world flit idly by.
Thoughts of  evening news linger inside,
despair and poverty,
people just like me, 
like old, rotten cladding, 
crumbling under social pressure.
Us nanny state kids, 
council-estate bred 
with ideas above our stations,
are a damp squib on far right projections
of lazy people addled with benefits,
mass-producing offspring
in our small council-owned factory homes.
The future of this Divided Nation
lies in the hands, hearts and minds
of breadline babies and charity children.
It lies with the people
who traverse dangerous waters
in plastic boats, entrusting 
their lives to the ocean 
instead of guaranteeing their demise
on unstable land.
The nanny state has a habit
of mollycoddling, smothering
its most vulnerable with
all the extra support they need
to make their short time
on this sodden planet
just 
a 
little 
more
bearable.

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