Pecking Order

Just at home, got a bit of internet time, which I don’t normally have.  Thought you might like another poem.

Pecking Order

George,

A forty-something male

Gave a patronising smile

To Dean

A twenty-something male

Smug in his belief

That his age made him wiser

And his class

More human.

Dean covered up his indignation

At the staid hoary suit.

Behold.

The grey pinstripes

Of a man with no blood.

See him tower

Over the powerless

Or those with wide eyes

And lolling mouths.

“Automatic good manners

Serves a purpose,”

Says George,

“It goes back to the Normans

Kept the peasants in check.”

Dean was a stranger here

And thought best to do as the Romans.

Once business was done

He’d soon be home

Playing computer games

And smoking dope.

But George

Had a hard day’s work ahead

And was dependent on trainees.

“Where’s my temp with the nose stud?”

He muttered.

She was in the car park

Smoking roll-ups

Wondering

What to make Dean

For his tea.

Daniel Tavet(c)