that says –
my life used to be such a different place
the kind where cars parked
children played –
and picnics were had

the stories –
are made true
because they believe in themselves
and not the me and you

the campfire has gone out
and the collective songs
no longer have verses that people know
they look like the party is over
and that it is time to go

the pen
is the only weapon
i have used
a cheap biro
is what i choose

let me remind you of a picture
the one with the curious glance
the one where,
the characters are engaged in a merry dance

does it not smack –
of privatised healthcare
and a system of markets
where patients –
become income generators
should there not be state provision?

did i black out
and join a circus
have i just come round
only to notice
i am surrounded by clowns

and i look at her
her eyes have aged well
in how many workplaces
do we need these kindly faces

there is something about her
a determination
a bit of grit
she will get there