Well, What Difference Does It Make?

 

Well, What Difference Does It Make?

 

Oh yes, it’s definitely got ringlets

that tumble grumbling in babydoll curls

masking its sack-cloth ears.

Bespoke though, and neatly tailored

to hear what it wants to hear,

and see what it wants to see.

And, if that is a hare lip,

well, why notice how it’s

been subtly reverse engineered,

into a mouth so carefully steered

free from under a button nose,

to smell what it wants to smell,

kiss butter lips that tell and tell.

Gently, now, it could easily melt

into offensive puddles if pushed:

just let it counter, strut thrust chest,

phone in the right and latte left,

none too clever, none to bright.

A degree in what? Oh well, it’ll serve,

you hire what you deserve

and look, everyone goes these days,

takes three years of gender studies,

or a diploma in repossessed minorities.

You’re lucky it liberated itself,

frankly, made it out of bed today to teach,

struggled scot free of sheets,

ordered a little something to eat.

Just branflakes, nothing fancy,

scooter driven to save time

for preaching global warming is a crime,

swinging its bag for life with the rest.

It’s got a use-by shelf life, though,

and, look here, its clock’s ticking,

what conscience it’s got is pricking,

bad mouthing all that bad grammar,

dropping balls before it’s caught out.

It’s up-sticks and off to inflict itself

upon some other nation

like all these children of stagnation

much farther from here, much better.

Won’t stay in touch, send no letters:

better to travel thoughtlessly than arrive

spreading notions of entitlement and pride,

and all those hearts it didn’t break

sing well what difference did it make?