Do I laugh at you, then,
With my arrogance in tact?
Cos if I do not laugh at you — scathingly —
Sharing with close friends your idiocy,
Then, for myself, I will have to cry.
A rasping, arrogant hoot of the haughty:
And all you can ever do me is to
Pet and pamper me as naughty
Boy, naughty boy: always so small in my eye,
Always an ex-stripper doing a CEO job.
So eager and ready to please the imploded
In an imploding agenda
Of an impaled body.
Never knows me, but always the one to define
In conclusions drawn in feeble double lines.
If you hear me crying, then, one day
When you return — tears dripping down cheeks
That are firm with sun and rain — you may learn that
I have given up laughing at you, Mediocrity,
And am sorry for being rude to the wrong self.