Rudeness

Self-Censorship

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2

There’s nothing wrong with ‘language’, –
To communicate’s the key
So why restrict the ones vereicht
(For many words begin with C)
Come, clarity can conquer crude
Catastrophe of cant
Through substitution of a vowel
It’s obvious what’s meant
When ranting on the topic of
Her least-admired slot
The poetry of metaphor
Reveals what is not
So obvious an object, yet
With strong component parts
Even ingenue construes it too –
What’s hidden of our hearts.
Pray, do not scold our children
As they strive to master terms
Still unfamiliar to those
Well-versed in Chinese burns
The patois of the playground
May be where they first attempt
Expansion of vocabulary
Mastery of feint
And tossing out tame adjectives
Must call a tool as speyed
With far more sense of phrasing
They’ll be that much less afraid
Of talking through their tensions
And timing out their tries
To test the twists and turns of tongue
That trip us up with ties
Inherent to our thinking
The second we’re quite grown
Abandoned truth that stank of youth
We posit the unknown
To bore for Merrie England
While chewing over fat
Discussing nothing needlessly
In stultifying chat
Quite lacking in all substance
Exotic or uncouth
Consigning dreams and hopes and schemes
To corners, dumb, aloof

Humanitarian Crisis

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2

I worked late today
In the usual way
Then stood long for a bus
While ignoring the fuss
All the placards and song
Of a protesting throng

When the first one came full
Joined the back of the queue
‘Til I hopped on the second
No wiser, I reckoned
To pressure or purpose
That brought out the workforce

I sat in my headphones
Absorbing through eardrums
The tunes of a playlist
Unchanged through two ages
And stared through graffiti
At people beneath me

Not knowing, nor caring
What fate we were sharing
Familiar landscape blurred
Into the sounds I heard
Hopped off three stops early
Finished one journey

I trudged ‘cross the common
To see if I’d find one
More bus driver’s hubs
Standing still by the pubs
Sure enough, there I saw
Not just one, but some four

When one finally, late
Put his pedal to plate
He pulled up to the tavern
Waved me past his cabin
For NFC, broken
Would not zap my token

I settled inside
Chose a tune for my ride
But two stops, no further
We stopped in a lather
Five kids, come from school
With no change to fare-pool

Tried to board, barter, beg
But compassion was neg.
As commuters grew restless
One woman, well-dressed, stressed
Their selfishness loudly
“Eff off!” she yelled, proudly

Some gentleman, small
Added footage to gall
Thus the youths took offense
At this lack of good sense
And a row quickly rose
As his phone met his toes

While we waited, suspended
To see what might end it
Some ran for the next bus
Some added their voices
And called for policemen
To make them see reason

It took three more stops
And a call to the cops
But not one among us
Could hit on the obvious
Tempers grew heated
As workers felt cheated

Ashamed, I forgot
Or I simply did not
Check I had enough money
Available, on me
To throw them a bone
So we’d all make it home.

Pedestrian parade

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Listen, mister
Honk all you like
Leer and stare
Yell whatever catchy
Obscenities you feel
Are needful
As I cross at
My own pace.
After the eight-legged
Ninja monstrosity I just
Dismembered and
Flushed down the drain
Your four-limbed
Feeble annoyance
Poses no challenge.
So go ahead,
Try me.

The Complaints Department

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Nobody calling at the tail end of Friday
Has anything good to say
If they’ve left it this long, it’s a ticking time bomb
That they don’t quite dare leave ’til Monday

So the caller’s frustrated (and won’t be placated)
They picked up the handset to moan
It’s a cert they will dump ev’ry unwanted hump
Down the angrily crackling phone

I’ll be blamed for their woes, standing in for the foes
In their workplace they daren’t attack
For a frontal assault would be seen as their fault
The decision that got them the sack

So a dose of aggression is their contribution
To kick off my paltry weekend
And the favour I do them in listening to them
Will never be seen as a friend

The bored minuter’s waltz

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I am not the enemy
I write down what you say
If you prefer machines to me
Then that is quite okay

Just buy yourself a Dictaphone
Rely on cold hard fact
To show you up for what you are
A self-important prat

If you despise the notes I take
Then you are more than welcome
To opt for less diplomacy
And hear the drivel spoken

I shall not be offended –
Switch to electronic means
Your meeting’s open-ended
So just lock up when you leave

Servicing Customers

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The more I try to do
For this, the misanthropic race
The less I give a damn
At each new petty, squalling case

The customer is always right
I try so hard to help
But somehow they just want to fight
And disregard all else

Abuse is but my just reward
How could I dare to hope
That one might take another’s word
As more than just a joke

It’s clearly not their problem
That they dump such attitude
Upon the person listening
To such indulgent, rude

And quite infuriating malcontents
Who do not want to hear
The answer is but common sense,
A finger in each ear

That I might make a difference
And right another’s wrongs
Would seem so far beyond the scope
Of what each call demands

So why do I still bother
To address their vain concerns?
Perhaps I have a conscience
Though respect must still be earned

Humanity is toxic
In it’s pale, pathetic way
As passive meets aggressive
And the loudest get their say

Where merit holds no currency
In worlds of bought and sold
The sway of youth from infancy
Decided in the mould

An age that takes advantage
Of compassionate display
Must find new methods to exploit
To profit from our pain

But who can tell the outcome
Of each thrust of knife to back
There is no sense in playing dumb
And yet the mask won’t crack

I do not have the answers
No, I’m just another voice
Yet I believe in second chances
And prefer to have a choice

I worry for tomorrow
That no hero saves the day
And as for all our sorrow?
How we get carried away!

On peahens in public

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There is a particular quality
To ladies of ‘the quality’ – who lisp.
It’s a highly peculiar thing,
A phenomenon, if you will –
But these women one meets
Through a twist of fate
Are frequently vile
And riddled with hate
For all those that they meet.
We lesser mortals – of doubtful morals
Provide much amusement for those
Glorious peahens, who
Drab in their mohairs, do
Choose to take offence
At the slightest of slights
And imagined slurs
Too much of his
What she views as hers.
I do not pretend to know
Why they upset me so.
If it has yet anything whatsoever
To do with their impediment
But nevertheless, I must confess:
These women have caused me no end of distress.
For perched upon their dignity
And sniffing with solemnity
They can spoil with great alacrity
And even a flourish of
Courageous snubbage:
Any social occasion.

A little bitty ditty of a journey to the city

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A girl got on a train, tra la!
She soon would go insane, tra la!
For service there was none,
And tickets bought for fun.

The girl sat down to wait, tra la!
Hoping she’d not be late, tra la!
But vain were all her hopes,
For Virgin trains are jokes.

The girl was on her knees, tra la!
A bunch of tourists teased, tra la!
Not knowing she could speak
Their lingo, tongue in cheek.

The girl was far too tired, tra la!
So she just sat and smiled, tra la!
And tried to read her book
While Europe cocked a snook.

The girl was now ashamed, tra la!
Of people not so strange, tra la!
She felt she ought to speak;
Too tired, bit her cheek.

The girl wanted her bed, tra la!
To hell with all things red, tra la!
But this was not her night.
The tannoy put her right.

The girl was now pissed off, tra la!
At snotty woman’s cough, tra la!
But trained to be polite,
She kept her mouth shut tight.

The girl got on a train, tra la!
To take her home again, tra la!
She needs a good night’s sleep.
To help her through the week.