There’ll be parson’s nose for high tea

Written in 2013

The turkey legs are eaten
and the ham has gone as well
the salmon’s off the table
the race horse in the stable
some wives are wearing sable
might as well if they are able
because this is not a fable.
The richest people in the land
say there’s nothing underhand,
and wish we’d try to understand.
Profits are at record highs
no one hears the desperate cries
the poor are hidden in the smog
the workers blinded by the fog
and the blind don’t see that well
but the increasing inequality
means that everything is swell.
They say that in Australia prophets no longer dwell
as the stench of exploitation leaves such an awful smell.
Original peoples dispossessed
asylum seekers are repressed
single mums are oft depressed
still the powerful are obsessed
with keeping record profits high
whilst workers hope for “pie in the sky when they die”.
Entrepreneurs had better pray
that everything stays that way
for if workers were to rebel
and judges decided to compel
the mining magnates to share their wealth
and to no longer operate by stealth
then we could build the world anew
share the “bread and roses too”.