A pound for the guns, a penny for the poor

A slam poem about Starmer's policy of war over welfare

They call it Labour, but who do they labour for?

Not the hands that build, not the mouths that plead,

Not the hearts that break under the weight of greed.

Keir’s banner waves, red painted bold,

But where’s the justice for the hungry and cold?

Four billion pounds, they say, to keep borders tight,

To fuel a war, to fund the fight.

While homes crumble, while dreams decay,

They hand the poor a pittance, then snatch it away.

Overseas aid slashed, the lifeline torn—

For defence spending, our compassion’s worn.

What price for the rockets, the tanks, the steel?

What cost for the souls that they choose to conceal?

Policies tailored like suits on Savile Row,

Fitting the wealthy while the poor stay low.

Promises hollow, like an echoing shell—

A promise for peace, but it's war they sell.

Angry voices rise, yet who hears their roar?

When the coffers are drained to fund foreign war.

And those at home, their backs bent double,

Are told, “Sacrifice more, your hardship’s our rubble.”

Labour’s banner? A mask for the pain—

It's red, but stained by the poor’s disdain.

Keir Starmer, your policies cut like a knife,

Taking bread from the table, stealing hope from life.

A pound for the guns, a penny for the weak,

Do you hear the cries, or the truths they speak?

This isn’t justice—this is war by stealth—

Bleeding the poor to bolster the wealth.