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Matchstick Bikes 

To tinkers and toilers 
     I salute, 
From mending boilers 
     to weaving jute, 
Man and boy 
     for generations, 
I will unemploy 
     your occupations. 

To brewers in sheds 
     I sink a few beers 
To wet the heads 
     of our engineers, 
From flat cloth caps 
     to matchstick men, 
I will see the collapse 
     of pushers of pens. 

To bakers, tailors 
     I wish you well,
To the soldiers and sailors 
     who fought and fell, 
From doctors, nurses 
     to hobnail boots, 
I will give your purses 
     to thieves in suits. 

To the grieving docks
     I drink a toast, 
To tackle and blocks
     and shipyard ghosts,
From warehouses, workshops 
     to fishing trawls, 
I will flick my mop
     in empty halls. 

To union dues 
     I shake your hand, 
To cleaning loos 
     and farming land, 
From railway gauges 
     to industry, 
I will turn the pages 
     of history. 

To factory lines 
     I raise my glass, 
'Neath abandoned mines
     of times now past,
From overtime 
     to austerity,
I will frame the grime 
     for posterity. 

To the silent mills 
     I tip my hat, 
To what ever ills 
     and this and that,
From a steelworks spew 
     to a builders hole, 
I will stand in a queue 
     to draw my dole. 

To finance, the city 
     I bow in awe, 
To show no pity, 
     to flout the law, 
From sellers, buyers 
     to pickets and strikes 
I will slash the tyres
     of your matchstick bikes. 

© RJVHorton2016

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