Nine Out of Ten

They count the biscuits in the paper sleeve, 

Nine when a steady ten should fill the space. 

They look into your eyes and don't believe.

A missing piece is something they retrieve, 

Consumer courts will rushing take the case. 

They count the biscuits in the paper sleeve.

You beg for tests, for some distinct reprieve, 

They claim it’s only "stress" you must embrace. 

They look into your eyes and don't believe.

You ask for proof, a note so you can grieve, 

They roll their eyes and clear you from the place. 

They count the biscuits in the paper sleeve.

A signature, a bill, and then you leave, 

Another slot, a number, a erased face. 

They look into your eyes and don't believe.

The world gives justice where the packets thieve, 

But leaves the broken fighting for their space. 

They count the biscuits in the paper sleeve, 

They look into your eyes and don't believe.