Poems: "JOBS" in the WORK category & "G.C.S.E (A poem about teaching drama in an inner London secondary school)" in the GRAND FINAL.
WORK Category:
"JOBS" by Emma Jones
Well I've done a lot of jobs
Most of which were shitty
But I don't want your props
And I don't want your pity
It's pretty uninspiring
Sitting and perspiring
In a call centre; it's like some dementor
It'll suck out your soul, leave you empty and cold
A bottomless hole like some previously untold
Circle of hell; we're working in hell
Where your headset is a ball and chain
And the emptiness hurts more than pain
And your nineteen year old supervisor
Comes to your desk just to chastise ya
Because you even dared to take
Fifteen minutes on a comfort break-!?
Telesales: that's the worst of the lot
If you succeed you're a cunt, and if not
They sit you with the top prick: "watch and learn;
This is what you do if you want to earn"
One day, I lasted in that little caper
Got a job as an office junior shuffling paper,
"You see this little hole in the envelope, yeah?
Well the person's address... goes there".
Argh! they act like you've had a lobotomy,
You think: should I tell them I've got a degree? Nah
And the photocopier eats all the paper you put in it
And you're watching the clock and you're counting the minutes
And the second hand crawls by- but why does time always fly
At weekends, when you're with friends, and spending money?
It's funny, that,
Oh I've done a lot of jobs
Most of which were shitty
But I don't want your props
And I don't want your pity
It's pretty damn disgusting
Cleaning and a-dusting
Sweeping and a-mopping
For plebs who go shopping
And dropping food all over the floor,
And what kind of people eat at the in-store restaurant?
Well messy cunts, that's who
They must throw food at their faces and miss
And I can tell you this
Cause I cleaned it every morning at 6am
I've cleaned postmen's toilets; that was quite grim
I've cleaned out sanitary disposal bins
The monotony was what got to me
I've filed and stapled made cups of tea
I've done factories, I've done fax machines
Yes I've done a lot of jobs
Most of which were shitty
But I don't want your props
And I don't want your pity
It's pretty damn demeaning
Men leaning over the bar
To look down your bra
And then grabbing your arse as you pass
With an armful of glasses
Being a waitress, yeah you get tips.
For tables of men to stare at your tits
And go snapping their fingers and acting like dicks
When you spill a bit of wine
Cause you've worked for nine hours at a time
With no break
And your hands are starting to shake
If I was a maid in the Victorian age
I'd probably get paid even more of a wage
Slaving away for three pounds an hour
And there's no union, no people power
You're the shit-on
So know your place and cower.
And if
Someone says:
"Cheer up love,
It might never happen"
Smile sweetly.
Resist the urge to slap 'em.
Oh I've done a lot of jobs
Most of which were shitty
But I don't want your props
And I don't want your pity.
© Emma Jones
GRAND FINAL:
G.C.S.E (A poem about teaching drama in an inner London secondary school)
by Emma Jones
Miss you're always on about GCSEs
Oh gosh, you should allow it Miss please
It just seems so singular
There's more important fings you knaa
G.C.S.E
Like:
Girls
Cussing
Shadika's
Extensions
Cause oh my days Miss, did I mention?
That thing on her head looked flammable
It was like a dead flippin' animal!
I lie? True say I don't chat shit
It wasn't a weave it was more like a thatch, yeah?
G.C.S.E
Miss! I gotta GCSE!
I've got to Get to the Chicken Shop... Early!
I promised Devontae I'd buy him some hot wings
And Miss I've got to cause he's such a hot ting
I'm gonna meet wiv him, eat wiv him, maybe later b...
Anyway Miss, I've gotta boost fam!
N Don't cut your eyes at me cause that's the truth man!
G.C.S.E
Miss...
I've got to Get to College Somewhere Eventually
and I've got to Get my Core Subjects like English
And I've got to Get my Coursework Sent to the Examiners
Miister Manufor told me dis dis morning,
And Miss! I can't just ignore him
And no disrespect Miss,
And don't get vexed Miss, but:
It's just drama. It's just drama.
Miss I've gotta GCSE!
Gotta get Chung for the Shubs this Eve!
I'm gonna look swaggalicious all in purple
I can't stay for no after school rehearsal
And anyway
I don't like this play;
It's... Gay.....
Miss you're always on about GCSEs
Oh gosh, you should allow it Miss please
It just seems so singular
There's more important fings you knaa!
© Emma Jones
