Universal Credit

Scraps of paper collect
on the kitchen table
like a plague of
white mice from the field.

The phone hangs
off the hook, unrung.

Cupboards empty their
meagre bounty as
change bites again
and again, ever more.

The house stands
on borrowed time.

Cold grey above hangs
on the voice of the wind,
a growing groan
that goes unheard.

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