The night before…the budget

‘Tis the night before the budget,

And the air is heavy with what ifs.

What if I can’t pay my bills any longer?

What if I can no longer be cared for?

What if I lose my home?

What if I have to live another day on frozen chips

And ration toilet paper.

You limit your existence to the bare minimum,

But bare might no longer be enough now.

Labourites sigh, and dream about a different budget,

If we’d only won that election.

There is an greedy ill wind blowing,

With heavy oily drops of rain.

Stormclouds gather together like crows,

And then all noise just stops in some sort of apocalyptic silence.

While Iain Duncan Smith’s grin hangs in the sky like the Cheshire cat,

Before it disappears.

Close your door, because you don’t know who’s knocking.

Pull the curtains, because you don’t know who’s looking.

Be quiet, because you don’t know who’s listening.

Shiver, when the brown envelope brings you bad news

Or invites you to an assessment.

You are alone when society as we know it falls apart,

And your social net and networks are ripped to shreds.

Across the country, not just vulnerable people feel vulnerable

while Gideon smiles to himself

and rustles with his papers.

We know what it is coming.