F*** Academies.

I wonder what would happen if my parents sold me off

To the highest bidder who could shout loudest and tell me off

Who identified me only as data and statistics

And spoke about my progress in the language of logistics

As a number that potentially could cause them praise or great distress

And, when the social comes a calling, produces paper to bear witness

To the wise investment they have made in funding their best friends idea

That for me, at least, is meaningless, but wins *them* parent of the year

But yet, despite this accolade, just one year along the line

It turns out that this parent isn’t parenting that fine

And they’ve accrued a debt for nothing, a large debt against my name

For which I’ve seen nothing for I’m just a pawn in a larger game

And to pay this debt I’m sold, again, to the one that bids much more

I’m now not the only kid, I’m one of a dozen more

Who are parented by, not one but, a collection of these parents

Who sit behind a desk and create policies, but it is apparent

That these parents ask for my parenting to be completed by a novice

While they sit around and bathe in green, and laze about in office,

And when the social, once again, comes knocking at the door

We’re considered failures and we’re passed along once more

And my parents, who elected, to have a child and try to raise him

Sold him off because their parents cut them off so they couldn’t raise him

And when you put two and two together and work out the truth behind the lies

That these parents that were brought in were the fat cats of an unelected system.

Published by RTS

Father, husband, teacher. Occasional eccentric.

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