My poem, Hard Times, is about recession. I wrote it during the awful Credit Crunch of 2009.
At the time I was running a one-man-band computer repair business that had been doing pretty well, or at least it had provided a reasonable, if not exactly, good quality standard of living for some twelve years. Sadly, in the space of two months I went from having twenty-five jobs on my business calendar, to none. Work dried up completely.
It left me in a very delicate financial situation
The mortgage still needed paying, the council tax and utility demands came in bang on time, as usual, but apart from my meagre savings there was nothing to pay them with. This poem was a bit of a release for all those pent up frustrations. It was also quite cathartic as it helped me realise that because I still had the capacity to use humour as a way to describe a dreadful situation, then I must on the way back; mentally at least.
The pound in my pocket is worth 50p
The price at the bowser has soared.
The pub and the wine bar, once regular treats,
I suddenly cannot afford.
I flew to the sun when winter was done,
with my girlfriend, a stunner called Sue.
Now my time share is sharing with some bugger else
and I think that my girlfriend is too.
I used to eat lunch along with a bunch,
of friends at a restaurant in town.
But now we're all poor no one goes anymore
and the restaurant has had to close down.
I used to have steak, eat puddings and cake,
but now the recession is here.
I can't have the roast; I eat beans on toast
and even the hotpot's too dear.
This damn credit crunch put paid to my lunch,
the bank told me I cannot borrow.
My takeaway dinner took away my last tenner,
I can't afford breakfast tomorrow.