So sad to hear of Bob Crow's seriously untimely death today. In these days of short term contracts and most of us slowly working, and stressing, ourselves to death, Bob Crow successfully made a difference for his union's members.
Here, in his memory, is a poem about a vile yoke I once worked with, who was "not au fait with trade unions":
Each of her
days its own picket line
she pleasures herself by crossing.
She is not au fait
with trade unions but smiles
like Magda Goebbels,
of whom she has never heard.
she pleasures herself by crossing.
She is not au fait
with trade unions but smiles
like Magda Goebbels,
of whom she has never heard.
- See more at: http://www.irishleftreview.org/2011/02/11/4165/
The poem also features in my new book The Ghost in The Lobby.
