Fit For Work

Nine years he served his country Then nursed in Mental Health None of his professions being Much good for his wealth. Physical ill health Brought work to an end Very little hope that His condition would ever mend. I watched him cry today Face covered in tears, Drawn expression of anxiety As he tried to explain his fears. Fit for work they’d said In the job centre up town, Gave him a job advisor And cut his payments down. Degenerative spinal disorder So at times he can scarcely walk, You can hear the pain in his voice Every time he starts to talk. Nowadays there’s more often The silence of despair, He’s losing all hope Starting not to care. Once again the food parcels Hoping for more success As we repeat the facts for Yet another appeals process. We don’t always win But we never stop trying" Driven on by the sight Of a grown man crying. I watched him cry today, Listened while he spoke Shared the black humour Of a typical squaddie joke. Arranged to see him next week Putting faith in my hope I don’t arrive to find him Hanging from a rope.