Scrap Heap Austerity Blues

Austerity, you got me down, 

you got me on the floor:
no rainbows shining through my storms, 
no buds or flowers any more.
Not much money in my wallet;
I got little cause to smile;
got a lot of cause to worry though;
got debts that stretch for miles.
Got my children going hungry,
got my landlord getting mean;
got no way of moving forward;
got a bunch of broken dreams.
Got no man to rub my shoulders
or to wake me with a kiss;
got no faith in prayers or fairy tales;
seems life goes on and on like this:
buying cheap and counting coppers
so as not to break that ten pound note;
thinking always who needs uniform,
who’s outgrown their winter coat;
who has a birthday looming,
who has wrecked their good school shoes?
It’s no wonder how I cry at nights

when all I got to lose

is those going-downhill-and-run-down,

down-at-the-heel-and-can’t-feel,
kids-aint-having-no-fun-cos-there’s-eff-all-left-to-live-on,

can’t-stop-my-crying, feels-like-I’m-dying.

who-would-be-a-single-mother blues.

Austerity, you got me, too.

Just can’t seem to get ahead.

I’m young. I should be full of life.

but I am full of fear instead:

afraid they’ll stop my money

if I don’t go here or show up there;

afraid I’ll never find a job,

or get a flat, have cash to spare.

I did everything they told me:

went to college - and I tried my best;

but now it seems they lied to me;

my CV don’t impress.

Now they give me ‘work experience’

when what I need’s a chance:

a chance to work for proper pay,

a chance to play, a chance to dance.

Coz Mr C, you see, I’m young;

I got the legs, I got the shoes;

aint got no opportunity –

and me, well I don’t get to choose.

Coz, well, you guys get the choices

while the likes of us we lose.

We got those no-dough-oh-no

sanctioned-if-we-don’t-show,

hard-luck-mucked-up-isn’t-this-a-fuck-up,

what’s-the-point-of-growing-up blues.

And, Austerity, you’ve done for me.

I’ve got a disability.

My life’s been hard enough without

the extra stress you’ve given me.

I didn’t choose to be this way

and, whatever you might like to think,

your targets are unethical;

and your methods simply stink.

Austerity, you’ve dragged me down

so low some days I don’t get dressed.

I know I should; sometimes I try;

but, mostly, I am too depressed.

These days, you see, I can’t get out

(and I do so miss my little car)

my Care Plan doesn’t care at all

but they say that’s just the way things are.

Austerity, I’m on my knees

with precious little left to lose.

If I could walk a mile I’d say

you should walk a long mile in my shoes.

But, as things are, all I can say

is, when the Great Assessment’s made,

I hope you get what you deserve

and you are left alone, afraid,

to feel the utter hopelessness

that weighs like a monstrous stone

and to try to live as best you can

until the final trumpet’s blown.

Because, then you’ll see, Austerity,

what it is to have nothing to lose

except those low-down-don’t-forget-me,

please-let-me-live-and-let-me-be-as-happy-as-I-can-be-

scrap-heap, austerity blues.

Abigail Wyatt, May, 2015