Second-class

In tweeds and furs and pearls and curls,
The rows and rows of lovely girls
Are strolling arm-in-arm to school
To find their niche; to earn, to rule!

In baseball shirts and well-worn shoes
The jean-clad, beltless, feckless youths
Go slouching to the DSS
To bail them out of worklessness.

The worker-bee that scurries fast
Avoiding trollies, hastens past
While pensioners crowd tiny shops
And squeeze the fruit and veg to slops.

The mothers juggle work and kids
And pets that piddle, nibble; fibs
From all of those who claimed that life
Would soon improve as someone’s wife.

Where blokes stay home and watch the box;
Dads clean their cars, and wear odd socks,
Mere gentlemen frequent the gym,
The pubs and clubs, but rarely in

A frame of mind to brook disdain
Belittle those¬†who’d challenge claim
To right of birth: Y chromosome –
All call the world their very own.

On knowing one’s limits

It takes a certain type of gent
To know exactly when he’s spent.
A gentilhomme to bow away
From what he’ll not achieve today.
And yet, these men are viewed as weak!
Those with courage ‘nough to speak
When they have found their limit reach’d
Rather than endanger each
Unruffled colleage, they withdraw –
Gallantly – with honour – more!
And wait until they’ve quite recouped
What strength they’d spent to serve their group.
Thus sensible, they fly away
To live to fight another day.