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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A Poem about the nuances of english attitude

Submitted: December 25, 2012

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Submitted: December 25, 2012



Homeless? I’m far too English too care.
A stranger? I won’t acknowledge you’re there. 
A driver? A text’s more important by far.
The scream of the child as they lock with the car.
The drivers mute; too English to swear.
The passers-by too English to stare

Brushed shoulders mean streams of ‘sorry’s ensue.
But we’d never complain, or cause an ado.
We’ll rush to your aid if you’re 5p short
But we’d never lift eyes on public transport.
We just wait; won’t lose our place in the que,
adding bricks to the walls that you can’t break through

We’ll swamp you with fake smiles and pleasantries.
We complain about rising uni fees.
But we’ll always cross the street at the mention of youth.
And we’re far too English to tell you the truth.
We’ll only ask questions if they end with a please,
And every problems solved with cups of teas.

Nothing of consequence ever exchanged.
Our stone cold hearts too hardened to change. 
We’ll complain about taxes while we buy more possessions
We’re English; we never learn from our lessons.

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