CINZANO ASPIRATIONS (POEM)

Cinzano aspirations,

With the bright lights hope.

***

Before their Father went abroad,

In uniform to fight,

To dirty, hot environs,

To prove the Empire’s might.

***

Now they holiday in Spain,

And flee the seaside rain,

Their dismal weeks in Morcambe,

Now thoroughly disdained.

***

Build a Spanish patio,

With money earned from sales.

Fiddling the taxes,

Skimming off the gains.

***

Read the Daily Mail,

The Sun no longer comes.

Complain about the unions,

And Harold Wilson’s Chums.

***

Sipping a Martini,

From the chipboard cabinet,

Veneer transforms the surface,

No solid wood in it.

***

Garish floral paper,

Illuminates the walls.

A plastic print of horses,

Hanging in all halls.

***

Steak and chips,

Duck a l’orange,

Displayed our prosp’rous ways.

A gateau black with cherries,

Ice cream, ‘Lyons Maid’.

***

But now it all is ‘different’,

We scoff at all these things,

Our wine not merely ‘red’ or ‘white’,

From Tuscany it wings.

***

Selecting finest morsels,

Hand prepared by chef,

Send it back complaining,

We never are impressed.

***

We holiday in Thailand,

We eat out every night.

We wear designer clothing,

And party till daylight.

***

The Peasant now the Master,

Gives not a single thought,

For the teeming sweatshop masses,

Who all their wealth have brought.

***

Out of sight and out of mind,

In ‘another world’.

We need not even watch them work,

Unlike our former lords.

***

It is the ruling classes,

This privilege their part,

To consumption make a virtue,

A discipline, an art.

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