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 ramblings and things

Fit For Work

Nine years he served his country
Then nursed in Mental Health
None of his professions being
Much good for his wealth.
Physical ill health
Brought work to an end
Very little hope that
His condition would ever mend.

I watched him cry today
Face covered in tears,
Drawn expression of anxiety
As he tried to explain his fears.
Fit for work they'd said
In the job centre up town,
Gave him a job advisor
And cut his payments down.

Degenerative spinal disorder
So at times he can scarcely walk,
You can hear the pain in his voice
Every time  he starts to talk.
Nowadays there's more often
The  silence of despair,
He's losing all hope
Starting not to care.

Once again the food parcels
Hoping  for more success
As  we repeat the facts for
Yet another appeals process.
We don't always  win
But we never stop trying"
Driven on by the sight
Of a grown man crying.

I watched him cry today,
Listened while he spoke
Shared  the black humour
Of a typical squaddie joke.
Arranged to see him next week
Putting faith in my hope
I don't arrive to find him
Hanging from a rope.

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