Poem -

The Master Of Small Talk

The Master Of Small Talk

We kept it simple so that he could understand,
even then, fell on deaf ears like sprinkled sand,
we hear what we want to hear, a delight no less,
what's really in his mind is anyone's guess.

The English always talk about the weather,
and just how much they seem to be clever,
the French are incessant with l'amour,
when what's less suddenly becoming more.

The Chinese are always busy covering their tracks,
giving silly smiles like waving ceramic cats,
the Irish are prolific well into the night,
making sure they call someone a dozy 'shite.'

An international esperanto might just be right,
instead of 'attitude,' we could all try being polite.

  

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lodigiana

What a wonderfully different piece and a great subject matter. It was a pleasure to read and enjoy!
Lodigiana x

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