stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18940
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2018-05-18 12:43:43
    [post_date_gmt] => 2018-05-18 12:43:43
    [post_content] => Workin who knows when,
what uh way ta make uh livin.
I drop Alfred at school,
hear they too may stop givin.

I take uh long walk down thuh High Road,
handin out CVs like a hundred metre race.
All distributed, I take uh lil trip
ta Camden, ma fav’rite place.

I’m there in two hours,
walkin, unable ta waste uh fivah.
Starin, I dream bout livin at numba six,
where an Armani clad man is led by his drivah.

Ma head pans up ta thuh balcony
an’ see Mrs X tendin ta roses.
Now I’m thinkin of choc’late;
junk, held under our noses.

I leave thuh Gardens
ta head ta thuh gates an’ play chaperone,
complain ta a friend who says
man shall not live on bread alone,

ignorant ta ma pain, cos I’m paid,
unaware ma cupboards an’ fridge
an’ freezer are a cesspool.
Alfred sits across thuh table from me, a smidge

of baked beans on his chin.
I wear sunglasses ta hold in signs that this ain’t regal,
wonderin if there are any means to ensure we eat prop’ly
so ma eyes, ta find even a scrap, don’t have to be like those of an eagle.
    [post_title] => Universal Basic Income
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => universal-basic-income
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2018-06-15 15:27:45
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2018-06-15 15:27:45
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=18940
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2018
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is the first-prize winner in the 19-25 age category of the End Hunger UK challenge on Young Poets Network (YPN) in 2018.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => 1st prize-winner, 19-25 age category, End Hunger UK challenge 2018
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 18938
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Dipo Baruwa-Etti
            [slug] => dipo-baruwa-etti
            [content] => Dipo is the first-prize winner in the 19-25 age category in the End Hunger UK challenge on Young Poets Network, and is commended in Ankita Saxena’s protest poetry challenge on Young Poets Network, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18938
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Dipo Baruwa-Etti
    [slug] => dipo-baruwa-etti
    [content] => Dipo is the first-prize winner in the 19-25 age category in the End Hunger UK challenge on Young Poets Network, and is commended in Ankita Saxena’s protest poetry challenge on Young Poets Network, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK.
)

Universal Basic Income

Dipo Baruwa-Etti

Workin who knows when,
what uh way ta make uh livin.
I drop Alfred at school,
hear they too may stop givin.

I take uh long walk down thuh High Road,
handin out CVs like a hundred metre race.
All distributed, I take uh lil trip
ta Camden, ma fav’rite place.

I’m there in two hours,
walkin, unable ta waste uh fivah.
Starin, I dream bout livin at numba six,
where an Armani clad man is led by his drivah.

Ma head pans up ta thuh balcony
an’ see Mrs X tendin ta roses.
Now I’m thinkin of choc’late;
junk, held under our noses.

I leave thuh Gardens
ta head ta thuh gates an’ play chaperone,
complain ta a friend who says
man shall not live on bread alone,

ignorant ta ma pain, cos I’m paid,
unaware ma cupboards an’ fridge
an’ freezer are a cesspool.
Alfred sits across thuh table from me, a smidge

of baked beans on his chin.
I wear sunglasses ta hold in signs that this ain’t regal,
wonderin if there are any means to ensure we eat prop’ly
so ma eyes, ta find even a scrap, don’t have to be like those of an eagle.