Tudor House of bygone days...Brass trim and stately oaken beams
dust covered elegance in a musty haze
all overlooked in favor of the telescreen
Banquet and salon grow dark
dialogue’s heady echoes die out
feenoid fribbles on their lark
ignore a past, thus have nil to forget
...And what of the turtles of distinction?
Still they lurk in the nether chambers
snapping with umbrage
snap, snap, snap
they cut no wheedle
The point? Who needs facetious flies on the wall pointing out the fading glory of forgotten thinkers?
The snappers snap not at flies assumed to be prey...
...but at the strivation of understanding
dying and displaced by the spectacle of teats and arse
and testosteroid fulmination
via overhead teleprompter
Turtling the Eternal...
———
Neon track suits replace cravat and coat
as well as Lady’s dress
Unisex Casual Sundays show no shame in bloat
as they parade their sartorial best
And again from on low
the clack of chomping maws
drift up through the floors
The ire of snapping outcasts
pine for pasts unflawed
while they stomach all the boors
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