Once they have stripped us all of DLA,
Then they’ll take our care packages away;
Next they’ll debar us from Access to Work,
Because it’s just another disability perk.
I’m wondering then just how I will strive,
To look after myself, or even to stay alive;
How will I shower, get dry and then dress,
As for toileting; that’ll just end up a mess.
What a sight I’ll be should I get to my job,
Dirty and undressed looking a like slob;
Covered in talc in hope that I can quench,
What can only be described an awful stench.
It won’t be long before I’m given the sack,
“That’s the way out; and, don’t come back”;
At the JobCentre I’ll explain my inability,
To look after myself because of disability.
A DWP officer will quickly glance at my file,
And, with soulless eyes and a built-in smile,
Reads me a worn-out script lacking any wit,
Which disqualifies me from all state benefit.
On the street in my chair; has it come to this,
Alone, without money looking into the abyss;
And, down in that chasm staring back at me,
A future that can only promise more misery.
So Osborne, Cameron and the rest of you toffs,
Look into this chasm where all your caste offs,
Lie broken on the wheels of neo-liberal greed,
Because people like you put profits before need.