Them with smoke rings in hair.
Them with longing for despair.
Them with no due care.
Them a little beyond repair.
Them with no sense or air.
Them with sour cries of,
“Ugh, cliché!” from their
leather armchair.
Them with a wild stare.
Them who fail to ensnare.
Them who treat sex and
death as a wolf’s beware.
Them who dress up frogs
in Moncler.
Them.
Courtenay's Corner 