No longer is there spend, spend, spend
When the working man has nothing to spend
When he does not have a penny in bank, pocket or wallet
I don’t now about you but I sure don’t
We shouldn’t wonder that the working class gets into a career of crime
You need food, clothes, petrol and the kids need toys and fun
But you can’t provide that
You find yourself simply saying, ‘I am sorry sweetheart, this month money is thigh.’
Next month comes and you find yourself using that same line
They want sweeties, that toy car, that barbie doll
And they are crying, hanging onto your leg in the middle of the store
You can’t simply crumble to their demands and yet they can’t understand. They are just kids.
The mortgage knocks on your door every month followed a suit by all the bills
You forgot the taste of all those holidays you went on
You forgot what it was to have a proper sleep at night
When you do sleep you dream about the bailiffs in suits at your doorstep taking your children away
Your worries can’t just fly, fly, fly away!
You are not the only one that is in this situation
One household in a great big pool
struggling against the tide
trying to stay afloat
and not sink.
By Elena Kokonova
thank you for reading. feedback would be great. these are some my latest poems. would be nice to hear what my readers think. :)