Scenes from a Working Life

Eighty-eight, bent double
In ovens at the retirement home,
Scouring for beer money,
Telling the old bloke I wasn’t his son
And no, I didn’t have his slippers on,
Time after time.

Seventy-five, a scam,
Prints lifted by the double-sided
Sticky tape stuck to the back
Of cigarette ads,
Fingertips stripped raw,
Made the Friday fivers sting.

Eighty-one, and
Santa’s gnome with the tat
To keep the brats amused
In the Co-Op grotto. Bored,
I stayed in the pub all afternoon
Ignoring the swag bag. Sacked.