Eat Sour Grapes For Breakfast Poem by Margaret Alice

My solution to boredom is anger.
Confronted with false holiness in
a sanctimonious, old-fashioned
Pharisee, my blood starts to boil.
The preacherman gets into stride,
begins to chide Dr Anne-Marie and
me for our unbecoming laughter –
oh, my holy friend, you might want
to end your life in heaven – but
not me, I would die of boredom.
I prefer fun and joy to your cold
judgmental ‘banter’. Calling us
unsophisticated? Really! Your maligned
attitude would ruin any kind
of happiness – go drink vinegar,
eat sour grapes for breakfast!