Artificiality
God, save us,
For It is making me nervous
Our determined rejection of the natural
And monstrous neglect of the cultural…
Our decision to be patrolling with the falsest hair,
Judging it honestly fair:
With a corrupted skin bounding round,
Believing this to be sound;
A sight sometimes pricking like a pin,
When the actor is my next of kin!
Few men and fewer women
Never venturing out without perfuming
In decent language or indecent pidgin.
At a non-wearer fuming!
Artificiality is a visiting of villages
Only once a year
And urges for ultra-modern images
Far and near;
Also, Breast milk’s silly exposure to sledge hammer
And devaluation in Good Grammar
By lactating but reluctant mothers
And she who now scantily bothers.
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