INSECURE

I’m thinking of leaving the country,
Just fed up of getting wet through.
The news on the telly’s depressing,
Ant’ newspapers saying nowt new.
The cost of me fags is increasing,
And the price of a pint’s going up.
Our tap waters tasting of chemic;
I am going to have nothing to sup.
All kinds of food is now suspect,
I’m frightened to have owt to eat;
I don’t feel secure in me dwelling,
And even less safe on the street.
But choosing a country to move to,
Be it westward or east of Siam;
Nothing compares with my Britain,
So I think I’ll stay weer I am.

©Bill Austin.