Aren’t they nice? The slim politician and his wife walking hand in hand.
She looks typical, well groomed and upper class, we the bystanders are
reduced to lust after her, she is the forbidden fruit and never shall we,
meet anyone like her. But if lucky, we might meet her hairdresser, and
if the hairdresser says the posh lady has lice in her hair, we will laugh
and say: “How typical, they are lovely on the outside, yet full of shit.”
But we know her dress can’t be bought in an ordinary shop and it will
take us a year’s wages, plus overtime to buy the shoes she wears.
The politician will talk about hard time and that it is tough for all, and
we see his wife nod in agreement. When his pep talk is over and they
walk amongst us adoring idiots and his wife stops and says "How are you?”
We stammer, and try to talk posh, but she leaves before we can answer.
When at home, in stillness, we realize we’ll never get to fu*k this cardboard
cut out of a woman. Her husband’s talk about difficult times means we will
get a lower pay packet, or lose our lousy jobs. We know in our feudal heart,
we will always be slaves.
