I read a few poems as part of a terrific night sponsored by Ctrl.Alt.Shift - Murder On The Catwalk - at the Source cafe in Carlisle. There were talks, filoms, fashion, music and poetry; with the theme of the night being ethical fashion and fair trade...

This poem (below) is a mash-up of my own work and Thomas Hood's Song of the Shirt, with small samples from W B Yeats, William Blake, John Fogerty and Noel Gallagher (thrown in for good measure). Hood's poem, about the appalling conditions which many women who worked in the garment industry were forced to endure, was first published in Punch magazine on the December 16, 1843. More than a century and a half later it's no less relevant: 

SONG OF THE SHIRT # 243872

With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread —
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt."

"Work — work — work,
Till the brain begins to swim;
Work — work — work,
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band, 
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!
"Oh, Men, with Sisters dear!
Oh, men, with Mothers and Wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!
Stitch — stitch — stitch,
In poverty, hunger and dirt,
Sewing at once, with a double thread,
A Shroud as well as a Shirt...."

So look at her closely, then look away
across the centuries to today

NIKE VAN HEUSEN DISNEY GUESS WHO

as all the time that's flying by
flies through her flying needle's eye

ASDA TOP SHOP WALMART BODY SHOP

and in Jakarta, Mexico, China, Brazil
she sits at a table, sewing still

PRIMARK LEVIS BURBERRY FIRETRAP

She's working for the man every night and day
working for a high street chain half a world away

TESCO ADIDAS TOMMY HILFIGER GAP

and the men who run your high street claim
in all good conscience there's no one to blame
for the fact that though we know their logos
no one knows her name

and so she works till her eyes and her fingers are sore
then she sleeps for a little and then works some more

she works for a crust of daily bread,
she works to keep her family fed
she works with her sisters, her brother, her mother

and she's only twelve years old. 

Some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to endless night.
Who's going to stop it? Who's going to make it right? 

Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, —
Would that its tone could reach the Rich! —
She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"

Words: Nick Pemberton - a general Ctrl.Alt.Shift website user.