The wind whistles,

The wind whistles,

There is mischief to it

But impishness

Is no excuse for mayhem

Nobody uses hatpins

Flat caps fly

Every which way.

Old men with varicose veins

Wear short pants,

Degenerates in retrograde

Wear even shorter ones.

Lost boys

Who never grew up

Withered by the sun

Shrunken headed

Sun-dried tomatoes

Bask in the shade

Of an awning,

Great whites yawn

Their defiance

Tired of waiting

Equality is inequitable.

Flat whites are de rigueur

For the coffee connoisseur,

Tipping away

Sub-optimal cups

From two shops

Before accepting

That at last, he had found

A brew of sufficient quality.

Insufferably

High standards

And low expectations

Are a common denominator

Of the diehard blowhard.

But it seems

That everyone’s a critic

About something

Sometime

Somewhere.