A poem by David McKinstry.

In our digital Dickensian days

Poor law’s long line,

In which with hidden heads

They queue to dine.

Covid meant that 

They were out of sight

And out of mind,

Now the cost-of-living crisis

Means they must 

Publicly queue to dine.

As night approaches 

For them, there’ll

Be little sleep,

As the toss and turn

Over whether to 

Heat or eat.

After a hard day’s graft

Shame on their face

They patiently wait,

Was this the ideal

Of the welfare state?