New Elizabethan Britain

The quick fix had worked so She slipped the needle away, Her little liquid friend that helped Through each long working day. A toot of the horn told her He’s out there with her lift For her to work the punters From the pub leaving shift. Only a whore they said When the body was found, A battered shop mannequin Lying on waste ground. With their numbers cut the Police couldn’t do much more And, as the papers had said, She was only a whore. Somebody said there Was a child somewhere Quietly and efficiently Taken into care. Three girls at the funeral Hardly a significant memoriam Then she was ushered off To the local crematorium. A cup of tea in a cafe In memory of a working mate Quickly slurped down as The afternoon was getting late, The girls went back to work: With their habits to feed Any fear they may have felt Overcome by addiction’s need. Not high class call girls With upper class clientele Just a poor exploited women With only one thing to sell. So, Austerity still rules, Unfair decisions are made, And poor women are still driven To the rough end of the trade.