The Ever-changing Job Centre

Our future is occupied by a collective of high-end shops.
Deptford is the newest developed destination.
The lounging upper community needs an after-work venue
serving vintage now and contemporary furnishings
to keep the bric-a-brac on its toes and looking for employment.

Bought with private agency the Job Centre's quirky charm
is in its Job Boards and unique music.
Hear the market turntables throw the local spirits away.

London is a pit-stop for the small and creative.
Soon, space will be for the brunch market only.
The pub will cater to a selection of well-influenced friends
and your name will be on the locally sourced menu.

The Job Centre, Deptford's Newest Pub

If you had woken early,
and dressed in the hoody and trainers you wore yesterday,
because you had no reason to put on a dress, or real shoes

if you'd taken a bus raucous with schoolkids
past the boarded fireplace of the old Tottenham jobcentre,

if you'd rehearsed your excuses, your self-deprecating smile,
and double-checked your pocket for the turquoise booklet
which is your ticket to the next two weeks,

if you'd stayed up late scouring Guardian Jobs
and neatly recording each fresh false hope
in tightfisted text boxes,

if you'd queued at 8.44am in a parking lot,
stamping the gravel and pulling your scarf tight,
with that mean green sign marking you out to passersby
with their useful lives and leather shoes,

if you'd watched the motley congregation grow
and caught yourself wondering what they did to get here,
and then hated yourself for letting Daily Mail headlines colour you stupid,

if you'd filed yourself through that door
knowing your advisor probably won't be in,
and if she is, she'll ask you what job it is you're looking for, again,
and you'll explain what it is, again,
and she'll conjure a list of jobs nothing like it
before reading each one to you slowly, like she's teaching a child,

if you'd given as much of your JSA as you could to your mum,
who tries all day to make people happy,
though all they want is someone who can't talk back,
whose RSI won't shift and whose back stitches her to the couch some days,
whose boss wants girls with straightened hair, not middle-aged women with English degrees,

you would not come here to sip craft beer and nibble chorizo.
You would cook its customers a poor man's grenade,
paint its vintage walls and quirky furnishings black,
and serve the ashes to its owner as a locally sourced, contemporary brunch.

Note: Last year a quirky, upmarket bar opened in south London in premises which were once a Job Centre. The new owners kept the name. The Ever-changing Job Centre was written using only text from the homepage of the Job Centre's website: www.jobcentredeptford.com 

Rowena Knight was born in New Zealand and currently lives in North London. She studied at Durham University, where she established the university's Poetry Society. Her poems have appeared in Rising, Bare Fiction, and Magma. She has work forthcoming in The Rialto.

Well Versed is edited by Jody Porter – wveditor@gmail.com
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