Foodbank Blues

Down In the wine cellars
beneath the corridors of power
they're rebooting Machiavelli
in his lowest hour.

Washing grubby fat hands
ever so humbly,
hoovering up the coke
while children go hungry.

The photo-op party
greedily on the make,
lighting foodbank birthday candles
where they can't afford a cake.

When you've clearly forgotten
what a conscience is for,
you carve yourself the biggest slice
and await a bloody good war.


Harry Gallagher