Blowing A Whistle Of My Own

 

Whistleblowers are all the rage. Of course everyone loves the sound of a whistle being blown, except when it's on themselves. This poem is inspired by a corrupt and abusive Community Employment scheme I once worked on. My wife Susan also worked there. The scheme was partly run by the Irish Congress of Trade Unions. No joke. Our then 'manager' has for the past nine years, since the collapse of that scheme, been employed on one of FAS's back to work schemes. Yes, nine years. 

To this day, he very actively campaigns against us, though he has little enough effect. There's loads of lefties and literati in Galway who love jabbering on about Bradley Manning, Edward Snowden and the like (and I'm with them on that) but when the whistle I'm blowing here gets blown, they cover their ears. For these people I have two words, which I borrow from the late Christopher Hitchens: fuck you.

My poem Community Employment Scheme.