Class

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For any fans of the big, glossy musical Chicago you may recall the lyrics to one of the lesser know songs, “Class”. Sung my Mamma Morton and Velma Kelly it’s a song about how much society and etiquette has changed in just one lifetime.

Oh there ain’t no gentlemen to open up the doors,
there ain’t no ladies now there’s only pigs and whores.
And even kids’ll kick you shins and give ya sass, no bodies got no class!

Tonight a group of people not much older than myself (15) proceeded to “sing”, shout etc in my street for nearly 3 hours. I, after a while looked out and was bemused to see how young they looked. I also chanced to see on such individual “shake her booty” at a passing car (which I may add barely missed her) whilst proclaiming this fact at the top of her voice swiftly followed by shrieks so high pitched that only the canine species could hear them. As they then staggered and swayed gradually (as almost all appeared to be very deeply under the influence) off to the near by pub I could not help but think “What the hell has happened to our world?!”

Now call me old fashioned but I don’t see the “fun” in getting so drunk you don’t remember what you even did! And the gents that escorted these young females (as one could defiantly not afford them the luxury of the word “Ladies”) seemed so intent on getting lucky that they would be more than happy to get a pissed a newts. I may be speaking out of turn here, but surely somewhere along the line something has gone wrong here, so very wrong.

I wait for the mornings news. And wish them the worst hangover of their lives, with the slightest hope it may shove some sense into those thick skulls.

POBASK
xxx

That Little Girl

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Frankenstein’s Monster,
that ball little ball of fluff
Who no matter what she did
never was enough
Maybe if she had been like
any other girl or boy
They would have treated her with kindness,
not like a broken toy
And maybe if she’d spent that time
When locked inside that shed
Not to cry or think about what she should have said
For her it is not simple
Nor too easy to recall
But If only you could tell her
This would not be all
She’d think, she’d be and hope
She would want and dream about
That her wishes could come true
Maybe now she would not doubt
But you see that little girl
Is still trapped inside that box
And inside her is a heart
With far too many locks
Those scars you see before you
May just be wear and tear
Were it not for the fact
You’re the one who put them there