Alan Bruce Thompson
Alan Bruce Thompson Poems
|82.||A Dog’s Life||3/27/2014|
|83.||Thirty Hour Work Week||2/14/2015|
|84.||Among The Folk||3/12/2015|
|85.||Autumn Means Winter||2/6/2013|
|86.||The Coming Of Summer||4/17/2013|
|92.||Chain Of Lies||3/12/2015|
|94.||Granada Mi Amor||2/14/2015|
|95.||Missing Your Voice||2/12/2013|
|97.||Speaking Some Truth||3/12/2015|
|98.||Free Market Economy||8/31/2014|
She stood there pouting, adopting a film star pose,
As her curvaceous virile body, pushed shape into her clothes.
She perched on her stiletto heels, threw back her blond hair,
She stood high above the crowd, aristocratic, without care.
She rehearsed for hours to become Venus personified,
She got some men excited, the others she mortified.
She swayed along, her hips swinging, so vain.
And all of this performance to collect tickets on a train?
I can get what I want if I stamp my feet,
If I make enough noise, I get what I want to eat,
Exactly what I want, very colourful, very sweet.
Mother gets so embarrassed when I jump up and down,
When the people at the next table raise their eyebrows and frown,
So I do my best to be really unpleasant, and behave like a clown.
Where did I learn this behaviour? To be so crude and coarse,