Inchcock: Looking Back – In Rhyme (Of sorts)

 

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Looking back, I see happiness, struggle and guilt,

I slept under clothing; we didn’t have a quilt,

The back yard covered in soot and silt,

From the railway line above us, what BR had built,

In poverty, we were up to the hilt!

*****

The disappearing family, starting with Mothers running away,

The police pursued her, warrants in hand, I might say,

But I didn’t blame her for running then, and not even today,

The police couldn’t find her, try as they may,

They search all over Britain, even in Callais,

Years later they did, arrested her, tried her but didn’t put her away,

Gave her a new flat, paid her rent, utility bills too did they,

Con-Woman Par Excellence, at her trial on the day,

Victims appeared as Character witnesses for her! it’s true to say.

*****

Joined the Army, booted out shortly, made me feel blue,

Searched for a job, something I could do,

Went into retail, and did very well too,

Then I got made redundant, what a hullabaloo!

Did industrial cleaning, hard work and horrible too,

Then I got made redundant, occasion number two,

The only job I could get then was in Security, boo-hoo,

Minimum wage, eighty hours a week, eventually promotion got through,

Even more hours, but the wage went up 15p an hour, Yahoo!

Then I got made redundant there too!

*****

To another Security company, where my hopes were high,

Another 10p an hour, I felt I could fly!

Working in the Control room, hard graft but I was on a high,

Then I got made redundant, for the fourth time oh my!

*****

No chance of further work appeared now was so old,

64 years of age and out of work, it made me feel bitter and cold,

So I had to go on the Old King Cole; the dole,

Signing on, applying for jobs, nothing to behold,

I was not trying enough to find work; I was told,

140 applications in 6 months not enough? Anger took a hold!

*****

 “I may have to review your support rates,” said the spotty faced urchin,

He nearly got a punch on his acne ridden chin!

But I remembered I was on a high reading for me Warfarin,

I asked the pimply person if he’d like to somehow begin…

Talking to me without sneering, my control level was getting thin,

That was when he hit a panic button, to get Security in!

*****

I was removed to an office, to await the arrival of the police; there’s gratitude!

A chap said ‘We’ve got it all on Camera, your abusive attitude!

I’ve done or said nowt wrong, Good God, I spewed!

The police arrived, we chatted, they checked the camera, I’d not been rude!

They let me go, showing common sense and latitude!

*****

Next week I was put on Income Support, I was a £10 better off then,

Soon I got me retirement pension; I was happy again,

Of course, the Angina, and duodenal ulcer was a pain,

Having to have a new ticker fitted, and  the varicose vein,

The Arthritis the sticking reflux valve, the blood from piles did stain,  

The hearing aids now fitted, I could hear a bit again, 

I started to go just a little bit insane!

*****

Bum bum!

By Inchie

73 years of age, pretty ugly, short, bald, pot-bellied, in ill health. Decaying physically and morally. Metal ticker, Duodenal Donald, Saccades-Sandra, Arthur Rheumatoid Itis, Hernia Henry, Hard of Hearing Hank, Bad eyesight Boris, Reflux Roger, Peripheral Neuropathy, Nerve Neurotransmitters Not-working Wendy, Bladder Cancer Chris, Stuttering Sandra, Haemorrhoid Harold, Shaking Shaun, Dizzy Dennis... there are others, but I've tired myself out, now! Hehehe! Oh, then I had a stroke! Failures, Accifauxpas and Whoopsiedangleplops are my Forte... Hehehe! I love making folk smile when I can. TTFNski!

2 comments

  1. Marissa Bergen – Burbank, Ca – This blog is a semi auto-biographical view of my life, beginning as a rocker chick from Brooklyn, moving on to playing in a punk band on New York's Lower East Side, to my current lot in life as a working mother of two, now living in Los Angeles. I love writing because you can be whoever you want to be when you write. Therefore, I would never want to pigeon-hole myself too much in my blog. However, I don't think I will ever deviate too much from what is innately in my blood, that being humor and sarcasm. Recently I have been turning more and more to poetry. I like poetry because it let's you say so much more with so much less, so much more about so little, and it also distances you from the subject matter, making you much less likely to offend someone, which I would probably otherwise do on a daily basis.
    Marissa Bergen says:

    You probably should have pursued your mom’s career path.

    1. Inchie – Nottingham. UK. – 73 years of age, pretty ugly, short, bald, pot-bellied, in ill health. Decaying physically and morally. Metal ticker, Duodenal Donald, Saccades-Sandra, Arthur Rheumatoid Itis, Hernia Henry, Hard of Hearing Hank, Bad eyesight Boris, Reflux Roger, Peripheral Neuropathy, Nerve Neurotransmitters Not-working Wendy, Bladder Cancer Chris, Stuttering Sandra, Haemorrhoid Harold, Shaking Shaun, Dizzy Dennis... there are others, but I've tired myself out, now! Hehehe! Oh, then I had a stroke! Now awaiting Cataract & Glaucoma operations. Tsk! Failures, Accifauxpas and Whoopsiedangleplops are my Forte... Hehehe! I love making folk smile when I can. TTFNski!
      Inchcock says:

      Now there’s a good suggestion Marissa. If only I could go back and try again! Tsk!

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