Some poets take offence
Then hurl their wine in Fortune’s face   –
They claim ‘a disability’ being poor

Born this way
I never noticed my ‘deformity’
Until I came into your city

For ‘Getting On’ I soon observed
Hi-jacked every social code
Humanity became cool disregard

Attend your Garden Party?
Surely   –   if you pardon my cheap plonk
While you deploy with pride
Cobwebbed flasks
Of Grandad’s Own chateau
Your pals and patsies traipsing cloth of gold

Yet seeming to despise themselves
Even as they fawn and flatter   –
Making to play leapfrog
They grovel each to each
And their works  (their works?) 
Mere meretricious gestures

It is a lowly fate to have much money!



Bernard Saint
Illustration: ClairePalmer





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