Michael Coy Poet Quatrain

Persius Flaccus Redux

Suppose we ran it by a friendly Martian
(I’d say “by Martial”, but he wouldn’t be gentle).
You crave Armani, Hugo Boss, Versacci and
that Hilfiger who’s naff, naff.  Are you mental?

This myth of exclusivity’s juvenile
(I’d offer “Juvenal”, but you’d refuse).
They’re mass-produced, ubiquitous, stock-piled,
your Sarah Jessica Parkas, Jimmy Shoes.

The Martian, then.  We wrap ourselves in rags
to ward off cold, conceal the family jewels,
but put a brand name on those skirts and bags,
you’ll cough up ten times more.  “You bloody fools!”

Apartheid is an evil thing, agreed?
South Africa once practised it.  You struck.
You staked out embassies, until the blacks were freed.
Embargoes, sanctions, boycotts – oh, such pluck!

But none of you’s besieging Tel Aviv.
Our Martian’s wondering what the difference is.
Ramallah’s raped without a by-your-leave,
but you’re at Burghley, knocking back bucks fizz.

Perhaps we can’t extinguish all life’s fires.
Perhaps compassion tires, and needs its pauses.
Or is there just a chance that it transpires,
there’s such a thing we’ll call “designer causes”?

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Darren White April 18, 2017 at 7:43 AM Persius would come back into a world with so many inconsistencies, that he'd need a thousand lives to describe it all satirically, but you're doing a great job to help him here. It's so very true. It sounds like we only stand up for a cause if there's enough media outrage to step out of the comfort chair and put down the drink we're enjoying. Oh and by the way, those designer suits are produced somewhere, and guess where and by whom? Michael Coy April 18, 2017 at 7:55 AM I knew you'd get it, if no-one else did. Thank you, amigo!