There is a place called Bigot Street
Where each pathway leads to prejudice:
“Look at all the dosh she got, for getting up the duff.
That black family over the road, they are living off my hard work and taxes.”
Something called the public purse for the government to help the most vulnerable
Marginalised by those that spark the fuse by spouting bile
From their comfortable pews.
Instead lend a hand to the broken, show warmth and compassion
Because one day for all your efforts you might be,
Crushed, alone without a voice on Bigot Street
Geraldine Ward is a poet and author from Kent. You will find more of her work on www.geraldineward.wordpress.com