I watched her flip-flopping through the mall,

hurrying with trepidation to the welfare office,

her black and white striped dress stretched far

beyond chic and her hair stylishly dishevelled.

Her coarse voice first caught my attention

as she yelled a bellicosity, over her shoulder,

to a companion, friend or enemy somewhere

in the swirling stream of afternoon shoppers.

Truculence shone out of the face that reflected

in a window as she passed by on her way to be

quizzed and dishonoured by government edict

and by a talented, graduate in the humanities.

Clearly, face-to-face work with the ever-needy,

the incurably ungrateful was, at best, menial.

Especially when the over-perfumed unwashed

radiated contempt for departmental authority.

They sat, gladiators, number taken and called,

both victims in a ghastly game of no chance,

tied by labyrinthine rules and cruel discipline,

foes forever in the denial of hope and charity.

I pictured them later, lost in consequences,

bruised losers in a battle set by the witless.

One, grey-faced with briefcase at the station,

the other, bleary-eyed and tearful at the pub.

End Note: Being a people watcher in any community has its rewards. The day-to-day life, when observed and recorded in verse, song or story, provides the true history of the place. The official history only provides the palatable half-truths and politically correct fantasies. Somewhere in the mix, there will be enough misleading information to sustain current alibis and to ensure that those who have may safely keep and those who have not remain in penury.

Crossing The Mall – Liverpool NSW © Dermott Ryder