Sweating In My Stink At The Jobcentre Poem by Michael World

I'm welcomed by security,
'Why are you here'
I show my book,
They let me pass,
So I walk past the stressed faces,
Try to hold my head high,
But the service is a nightmare,

Only it's true.
Were all treated like horses.
'Hey you, Get in the queue.'
I go to the first floor,
Where I need to sign on,
I'm confronted by more security,
'Can I help' I'm told.

I grant him a smile and kindly say 'hello,
My name is Michael, I, d like to sign on and
I'm sorry sir, But I'm five minutes late.'
'let me see your book' says the man at the gate.

The man at the gate looks up with a sigh,
'You're late, '
'I know' came my confused reply,
'Go take a seat your name will be called.'

I watch the man standing proudly at his gate,
It takes him an hour just to pass on my book,
Now he's not just the owner of the magic gate,
He also makes his own rules just to irritate.

The brutes with their blazers and shiny shoes they hide,
YOU'VE FORGOTTEN WHAT ITS LIKE ON THE OTHER SIDE,
But your turn is waiting, just like ours has begun,
Were all just horses,
We get whipped for fun,

So when your time has come and you need a few quid,
You'll be in our position,

'SWEATING IN YOUR STINK.'