The day the Daily Telegraph blew the lid,
On our MP’s expenses, we went mad,
Hang them, flog them, kill them came the cry,
100 days of headlines filed that way.
While all that rage went on what disappeared?
Why, news of all the millions pissed away,
By self-styled masters of the universe,
In Lloyds and Barclays, Goldman Sachs and Coutts.
In all that letters page outrage,
And editor epigramming, one thing was lacking.
Equivalence was not explored, nor damage,
Done to flesh and bone discussed,
The low-wage kids that lost their work ignored,
The loyal servant of the family firm,
Laid off, the self-employed with guts,
To go alone, laid low, the cleaner in the banker’s second home,
All missed out ’cause real people count the cost in brass,
In pocket, coppers, silver, notes, and sums,
That can be counted and made real,
Not billions burned in banking cyber space.
Corpses line the road from there to here,
The ‘local boy done good’ who couldn’t stand,
The thought of losing everything he’d earned,
The horses, home and hope his sweat had bought,
When times were good. He simply torched the lot,
And shot himself his wife, his daughter, innocent but on that day,
Condemned to die by lunatic and bankers’ making good.
But, the Telegraph went on, we’ve been betrayed,
By our elected leaders, living high,
While we all starve. Rhetoric
With a cold clear eye on obfuscating
Scandalous behaviour by its readers,
Who might object to ‘Bankers, liars and thieves’ lines,
In leaders, over croissants and espressos,
In the offices of former ‘gilt-edged’ firms infused,
With many noughted subsidies from us.
So there it is, this outraged search for truth
Is simply smoke to screen the obscene,
Betrayal of we many, by those few who broke the banks,
That fed them. Our MP’s pay the price for their tiny (in comparison) avarice.