Inspired by my personal experience of non-contributors who have inflated self-esteem to a point where their sense of entitlement needs to be challenged.
They don’t seem to care how the money that meets their needs is collected, or where, or who it comes from; they are too busy ranting at the unfairness of the world to think about it.
Rather than be angry at them, as they seem to be with the world, I chose to write a poem. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Sat comfortably at the dining table today
Safe in the knowledge there’s no bill to pay
Hoards of fine diners eat to their fill
Inviting some others to join them at will
Come, come they say, you’ll love it here
Sit down and eat, you’ve nothing to fear
Endless amounts of good food and wine
A safe place to sleep, a home I call mine
A key to the door and bills are inclusive
No need to make this great deal so exclusive
Join me and we’ll eat together today
No need to ask ‘where’s the people that pay?’
I’m entitled to this, come, sit with me
It’s great dining here. It’s great and it’s free
Who cares how all of this came about?
Deny me my dinner and I‘ll start to shout
~~~
Mine, mine, mine, mine it could be yours too
Sit with me now as there’s food here to chew
~~~
Outside a shadowy figure stands still
If you look at him closely he does look quite ill
The diners continue to enjoy their meal
Not worried who he is, no thought to the bill.
From outside he sees what his payments provided
He sees all the diners but isn’t invited
They seem quite happy, warm and well fed
But they wouldn’t care if he dropped down dead.
Inside the talk turns to wider concerns
Of who are the worthy, as each take their turn
Seconds? They’re asked and quickly confirm
Yes please I’m worth it without any return.
They sit and scorn at the world and its workers
Sod those who toil, power to the shirkers
We’re special you see, yes, we need someone to pay
But you should be grateful we’re here every day.
No comments:
Post a Comment