The numbers: A poem 

The numbers make you as numb as a shewn log 

GDP and inflation figures are like peat in the bog 

Does the old man with the walking stick seem to know 

that the economy is being eaten up by welfare’s core? 

The recession is also a recession of law and morals 

Crime is making it all look like a seabed without corals 

Ideals are elephants in a shrieking, shrinking jungle 

Homes are breaking up in cost and mortgage bungle 

The streets of the city are open leg space for thugs 

The beggar on the corner is also hooked on to drugs 

Sing the blues, there’s nothing you can do in the woods 

The clock is winding for you to compromise on your goods 

Honesty is the dirty word like the stink in sweaty armpits 

Greed is the potent missile tearing humanity’s sky to bits 

The dole bill is swelling, but the recipients only get titbits 

The numbers are being broadcast; they’ll scare you off your wits