Box 3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about the evils of unemployment

Submitted: June 28, 2009

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Submitted: June 28, 2009

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 BOX 3

The unsightly entrance door

matches the expressions

of those, who sit behind mahogany desks.

Unsmiling faces, as the queue snakes slowly forward.

The details now listed

of age and experience,

and even next of kin, farcical acts

of application completion, for non existent jobs.

Processed now and filed away

by the still unsmiling face.

What is her problem anyway?  She's lucky,

she's got a job to get out of bed for.

Resigned faces of the men

whose fathers died for this;

as social an evil as any war,

this humiliation for a state handout.

"Next week, here at eleven",

she shouts, no pleasant partings.

"Next", she calls out loudly

to those who wait in line.

 The snake creeps on.


© Copyright 2020 oldfield. All rights reserved.

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