Proper Society

Proper Society A determined practitioner of misanthropy My ungainly feet stumbling I go about life on my own terms To sit at a table for tea Would find me apoplectic No finishing school for old women Who once burned their bras I prefer to say my piece straight out And watch truth bounce, like a pinball From the walls of artifice Polite conversation Pass its tray to others, who can Bend word to find themselves A cabal of correctness Their blinders hide them From naked actuality