Poem for the anti-Fracking campaign
Beware the one who talks to you of your children’s future
for he carries an Earthquake machine
that will rubble the lives of your children.
Beware the one who talks to you of Investment and Community Projects
for he will bribe the weak and the craven among you
and invest in division and hatred.
Beware the one who talks to you of protecting the environment
and of safety procedures. She is getting millions
to lie and will protect herself
from every consequence
with an army of lawyers.
Most of all, beware the one who talks to you of jobs.
He is searching for loot and, after he gets it,
will leave you all to drown in a hole
you might never get out of.
I’ll tell you how I know this:
Years ago a Jobsman came to my old town
spitting hundreds of jobs at us.
He opened mines and factories,
looting the earth and the people.
Even greater loot came to the Jobsman
by way of the politicians
who made sure that, just like them,
he didn’t have to worry about taxes
or for paying any rent for the factories and mines,
which, by rights, belonged to the people.
Of course, the people did not (and yet do not)
even belong to themselves. The Jobsman paid the people
just enough so that they
would unproblematically belong to him
for the little while he needed them for loot-extraction.
To cut a long, sad story short:
a few years passed and then, of course, the Jobsman fucked off
with all the loot, and all the jobs.
All he left was a great big hole,
a great big magnetic hole in the side of my town.
This hole has had many different names
for all of the different people
who have fallen into it over the years.
For most it’s called The Unemployment Hole.
For many, it’s been Addiction Hole.
For other’s, Black Depression Hole.
So many have fallen and fall and are falling
into The Suicide Hole.
Over the years I have heard many women screaming
unanswered in Wife-Beating Hole.
This great big hole in the side of my old town, gouged out
in one swoop by the Jobsman: I call it Memory Hole.
I call it Memory Hole
because thirty years on
people are still falling into the hole
and very few remember
and even fewer will ever admit
who it was that dug the hole.
So, my advice to you-
from someone who knows-
is this: when the Jobsman comes,
gather your strength,
gather your greatest numbers around,
march as one in his direction
and run the lying cheating bastard
out of town.
Latest posts by David Lordan (see all)
- The Iron Lady - April 9, 2013
- Cathechism: This is a Catholic Country - November 18, 2012
- Definition of A Runner by Dave Lordan - October 1, 2012
- The Fucking Titanic - July 30, 2012
- Writers shouldn’t ever feel too proud or glorious. We should remember our horrible origins - June 14, 2012