Souls For Sale. Poem by PAUL COLVIN

They’re all dressed up, they’ve got the gear
Their trainers tracksuits, sportswear.
They aren’t rich but buy the best,
That’s street cred’s favourite acid test.

Some have their hair cut once a week,
So sharp, so fresh, they look so sleek.
The most expensive wares you’ll find
Are worn by them but they don’t mind.

Their trainers we could not afford
For us, too much, they’re censored!
Their aftershaves, their gels and creams
Available to all with dreams!

They’re in the pub, a quiet drink
With all their mates, it makes me think,
They laugh and drink the night away
Yet some have never worked a day!

What’s all the fuss and who’s ashamed
Well they’re not fussed and won’t be blamed,
They use the system, get free cash
That’s why they always look so flash.

Morals, principles, where’s their pride?
All they want is their free ride
Once a fortnight, sign the dole
It seems like some have sold their soul.