~an allegory~

A flighty little sparrow
Starting to feel its age
Frittered away the nest egg
And flew to a gilded cage
It was as a paradise
And the birds were of that sort
Some migrated, some displayed
But all of them were caught
Within a rigid structure
Not of bricks or glass
But the lot of them
Were painfully aware
	Of the importance
		Of Being
Upper Middle Class.

The sparrow though,
A socialist – and not RP at all
Viewed these birds with mockery
Until he received a call
From a brighter, older bird
Inviting him to a function
“RSVP not necessary
Come without compunction”
“Fuck that!” thought the sparrow
“Though I suppose it might be fun…”
And wanting to see how the other half roost
He was compelled to come.

“Why do come in / why you must be / we take our shoes off over hyaah
We had the parquet re-lacquered but the work’s inferiaar
Do take a fondant fancy- oh not me you wicked boy
Why I’m old enough to- I don’t look it do I -no no don’t be coy
Have a cucumber Earl of S, but of course without the crusts
I see you eye the mantelpiece; you notice all those busts
Husbands. That’s my latest – blessed be – ninetyeight he died
But I’m hogging you dear boy, oink oink, do let us go iteside.”

“Margery, the Rhododendron’s are looking just divine
Oh but you have a gentlemen”
“No no May – he’s not mine… Yet.”
“You’re dry Margery, have a Brute.”
“Phyllis. Don’t be coarse”
“Champagne, I mean, for he and thee. I take it you take the sauce?”
“Margery’s such a dry old bird her last beau couldn’t live without-“
“Whatever happened to the major? Did you throw him out?”
“He… died.”
“Oh.”

The years went by, who knows where
And he holds her by the foot
Her skin is still yellowed, sagged, bare
But he smokes a thin cheroot.
They took his principles for a joke
And stripped them day by day
Til his ethics were round his ankles
Quite like her negligee.
Then they rubbed in riches,
Greased him, gave him a sheen
Now she stands naked before him
And he rubs in Wintergreen.
Oh horror! He helps her to the tub
And soothes her aches one and all
Wiggles a finger across her nub
His face inscrutable.

And as he holds her writhing foot
He tries to focus on the taps
And picture the inheritance
But stares right at her flapping baps
No. He focuses on his ring
– he’s hubby number six
And he’ll be the only one
To outlive the maitrioctogeneratrix
And he looks along her knife-like shin
	Along her bony thigh
		Over her quivering gray–fuzz quim
			(she spasms as she dies)
And he looks between the flaccid - eugh
	And over the - eu
		And – ieeh
And he sees her poor bewildered face
Drowning with a “why?”
Do the bubbles speak “I gave you
Everything I could –
I only wanted company
And thought it would be good
	for
		You!”
<pop>

“Oh please don’t go” / “It’s not that late” / “we usually go all night”
“Too much champagne?” / “It was the mousse” / “May; you may be right”
“But we will see you, won’t we dear? For tea tomorrow? Noon?
It’s been such refreshing fun. It’s a shame… to go so soon…”

Fly away little sparrow
And don’t return for tea
Or you’ll be caught
	and clipped
		and stripped
Of all that makes you free.

So flap ya faarkin’ sparra
Find yourself a slum
Rave and riot, nick it or hire it
But never again be glum
Dump your possessions - they own you!
Society got you tea-bagged
But you can fly from doss to doss
And sleep on what you’ve tagged
And all those stale conventions
“How d’ya do” and “you must be”
Are bugger all compared to being
Socialist and free.