Hope’s Not Enough, Son – Ask Your Parents

And so there’ll be no respite here,
Where the concrete is cold and grey year upon beer.
ln sun-weathered front-rooms with shadows to match.
Is Knowledge power? Will my meal last?

Those are willing hands, my son,
And you’re desperate for market now that Puberty’s come –
That Clumsy Careerer’s putting hairs on your chest

Sitting here between Autumn and Spring
The chill in the air-resonates to the scene of Professional Queueing –
“Is my bus late again? Will my bus come at all?”

One ambition is to get one back and serve my cap upon your lap…

Self-respect, I claim thee now
From the cut in my wages to the sweat on my brow!
Tired, white knuckles can’t prevent his drain –
Is ignorance catching?

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