Ron's rages are sincere and — according to his wife — healthily cathartic. But can these splenetic outbursts loosen the grip of capitalism at its most monstrous?
Man hours
by Adaora Raji
Tic tic tic
your clock is moving
because it is my perennially occurring lot
I must move with your clock
haul bags of cement to and fro the site
what else is my back made for?
Cement. Sand. Gravel
Mix.mix.mix
Mould.carry.plaster
my feet is aching
my back is breaking
my head is throbbing
but I must finish this
because a labourer deserves his wages
Similar stories
by Rosie Jackson
ANDY CROFT welcomes the publication of an anthology of recent poems published by the Morning Star, and hopes it becomes an annual event
RUTH AYLETT reviews two collections of outright political poetry
by Christopher Norris


