A lone man polishes* his car lovingly with big white cloths,
Pausing to reminisce momentarily in his quest for the perfect gloss;
Thunder-thighed girls on suet diets,
The English rose, reality a farm of heifers,
Lurch behind hockey sticks as they chase failed dreams that failed in the dreaming,
All down-to-earth, mundane stuff
That shapes their bodies and thin, urgent calls
Stabbing peremptorily at the bounded world they live in.
A toy-town jeep carries home the smile of a man who stopped smiling,
The pinnacle of his achievement this crowning glory in green,
Hopes lived out, dashed, all coalesced in this one symbol of the estate, the multimillionaire, the cool,
Four wheels and a coat of paint,
Sad, really.
Two teenage girls, thin lips,
Sour minds,
Argue in bric-a-brac thoughts
Over the rights and wrongs of nothings,
Leery-eyed, ready to pounce on the technicalities whilst missing the purpose,
Lives of needles and pins and baloney balancing on the tightrope of social acceptability.
* (bowdlerised)
