A poem for Labor Day

Surplus Goods
copyright Patricia M. Shannon 1996


Won't you please give me a job,
I've been out of work so long,
I have used up all my savings
and they foreclosed on my home.
I had paid ahead by four years,
but it didn't count at all;
the mortgage company now does own it,
well there ought to be a law.


I was never a big spender,
I paid off loans ahead of time,
I did just what they told me,
saving for when I retired.
I have gone on few vacations,
and at K-Mart I did shop.
Might as well have been a spendthrift,
'cause my credit is all shot.


I went at least for six months
without a single interview,
made worse by new age so-called friends who said,
"You never should be blue."
There's a special place in hell
where there will be sent
George Bush and Alan Greenspan
and Redstone Federal Credit Union president.

"You have too much experience,"
that is what they say.
They want somebody younger,
who won't expect much pay.
Well, I've always tried to work hard,
and to do the best I could.
Now they tell me I'm not needed.
I'm just worn-out, surplus goods.