It was first called ‘Welfare’ by a proud state,
no more ideal, we’re now told to berate.
Ever less likely to be paid to me –
freelance, with Parkinson’s, at fifty-three.
Welfare no longer there to be loaned,
so uprooting the ill, the poor, the old:
I am remitted by Tory-found cash,
but as of today my response is rash:
I sack the Tories! No PD-jerked knee,
But they’ll still fare well with another’s fee.
More clients will employ me to show designs,
I will work for as long on my shaken lines.
Any vacuum is filled, so it is said,
but suffocate welfare into the red?
One nation, built high on the backs of the old,
we should pay more so our welfare’s not sold.