Oh boy, aren’t you the bee’s knees
No need for a question mark
An exercise in rhetoric
My thoughts are often dark.
Constructing that white picket fence
So naturally arrived
Mud stained in later years
Even those contrived.
The result of workmanship
That finely chiselled jaw
And your tousled hair?
A considered salon law.
Your clothes just thrown on
With Napoleonic precision
Five o’clock shadow,
A three day decision.
Your throw-away remark
Practised as a thesp
And so deftly tailored
Your off-the-cuff jest.
Windswept and interesting?
I wish, the wind divine
That social anecdote
Learned by rote and rhyme
Those dramatic cheekbones
A theatrical plastic
I smirk as the day approaches
When your waist requires elastic
As you chew upon these lines
Steeped in vitriol
I may be rough and flawed
But I know the goal is soul
Oh boy, aren’t you the bee’s knees
No need for a question mark
An exercise in rhetoric.
My thoughts are often dark.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem