The Perfect life, a wife half his age
Their house grand, with a zip code to match
No hawkers, appointments only
The library full of Shakespeare
Never opened, for it’s the show that counts
Dinner Parties, A new painting
Purchased, because we can,
A favourite phrase for American wealth,
Pompous talk of Wine and Poetry
Vinegar, and Plagiarism their only worth,
Still the new boob job to admire
The children, off to England, Trophy kids,
Breast fed by American Express.
The Debutants Ball awaits them
And a hoorah Henry wedding their destiny
Church on Sunday
New money at the front
The old money sitting in the private pew
God for sale,
And the greenback will mop the saint’s brow
Even in death a grand memorial
But decay gives no privilege
Let’s hope the pearly gates are the right colour
And god has the right zip code
For pomposity, might just send them to the wrong house.
© Copyright 2017 steven cooke. All rights reserved.
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