The Theory

The hoots in the Apple
Are surpassed by the babble
Of fashionistas arriving in town

The stomping and clomping
And behind the scenes bonking
Which no decent girl would entreat

Give sway to the fashions
And media passions
Of the latest thing on the street

With Auschwitzian faces
They all take their places
Parading their wares to the throng

Unaware of the glances
Of men who take chances
To show them good times…not for long!

There’s endless chatter
About things that don’t matter
The noise and the hubbub profound

Clumps on the catwalk
Heard all over New York
Breaking new barriers of sound

The affrontery! The cheek!
The unmitigated gall!
Haven’t they got any shame?

Their skeletal frames
Atop matchstick thin legs
All seeking fortune and fame

Their reign is quite short
Despite what they snort
Or who they comfort in bed

When botox can’t help them
And they turn to their surgeon
Well, there’s nothing more to be said

Pretty to look at?
Witty? no scrub that
Braincells? almost bereft

But oh! the endless stomping
And clomping and bonking
Would make one wish one were deaf

It’s obviously true, no doubt about that
This constant, cacophonous, meaningless chat
Confirms the theory already well found
That empty vessels make the most sound!

apple with union jack

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2 replies

  1. Very wry!

  2. I am suitably impressed by your eloquence brother of mine.

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