York Road
By Be.jaysis
- 706 reads
In at ten, through the double doors and up the worn stairs again
Platinum-haired woman by the desk takes my green booklet, then tells me to wait on the blue settee
Where two blonde children are talking about last night's TV
And the smell of cigarettes hangs heavy on the coat of the man sitting next to me
My name is called and I go to see an adviser
Who adjusts his smeared spectacles as he suggests it might be wiser
For me to broaden my search.
“Have you thought about retail?” his pale fingers pushing a glossy leaflet across the table
‘Your chance to gain work experience!” the bright letters say
And a smiling supervisor looks on as a ‘trainee’ stacks shelves for no pay
“I’ll think about it,” I reply, thinking to myself, you can stuff your ‘work experience’
There’s a word for it, and that word is exploitation.
Afterwards I go back down the stairs to the machines
Codes and numbers flash up as I touch the screen
A world of drudgery and dreams at my fingertips
The machines sputter, spit out their strips
Ready to be collected by well-meaning hands and carried carefully to the telephones
'For job-seeking purposes only” the signs drone
But I can hear the man next to me apologising for missing his girlfriend’s birthday
"I'll make it up to you, we'll go out on Friday"
And the job adverts now lie forgotten on the faded carpet
Discarded lottery tickets in a futile lottery
I walk past the gossiping security guards and into the biting cold of the street
Leaving the brightly lit promise of the jobcentre behind
For another two weeks.
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Comments
Excellent. It is really
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