SUV- Mothers ; -Yummy Mummies
Behind the quintessential shades
They sit in their SUVs each day -
A frosted window away form that
Outside irrelevant world
Impervious and oblivious to anything
Outside their self-absorbed conversations
on their pink- glow fashionista phones
. They have fashion mags on their laps -
Paris Hilton and some other airheads,
And between their ears a screeching whoompa song –
Or sometimes the sound of trickling water or whale music – which their personal guru prescribed
Their children come squabbling from their private school. Fat, unfit, screaming ugly.
They are double-parked -but screw that - get a life you asshole.
And these people who are as guilty of asbos
As their drunken teenagers who urinate and fornicate on our streets.
They dote on every whim their spawn demand
And tutor them in throwing tantrums and cell phones
at the Latvian home help’
They cherish their tarty girls and send them to the make up artist for her 13 th birthday party.
Not for them the notion of summer jobs,
or opening doors
or any of the other shackles of subservience;
These are the inheritors of the earth;
the dot com spawn - the chosen people; the new Israelites of this global tower of Babel.
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