Jars And Jars Of Pickled Gherkins? Poem by Mark Heathcote

Jars And Jars Of Pickled Gherkins?



No one is ever-thankful
Lamenting plates empty,
Chairs filled at the dining room table,
"When your counters only pickings.
Jars and jars of pickled gherkins? "

No one is ever thankful
When these wages, given spiteful
Are delivered by the corrupt;
Oligarch's troops, who have vodka and bread
Dressed from head to toe in sable.

No one is ever thankful
For those thieving government officials
For low paid state wages,
With all those mandatory inherent dangers
Fighting-for every scrap, morsel.

No one is ever thankful
When they've armed themselves to the teeth
And, there is no food parcel or Red Cross relief
No one is ever thankful to those grandees
Who put themselves in charge; "corruption" brother it's a Scandal.

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