Posh Girl By Jim Higo

Your faux civility knows no bounds, You smile at me like a Thai waitress, and for a second you almost persuade me that you are genuinely interested in what I'm saying. But then you nod when you shouldn't and I know you don't care; your mind is elsewhere, like when intelligent people are forced to sit through soap operas. And you have that way of speaking that implies curiosity; but that actually means you have neither the desire, nor the inclination to know anything about me, and you are only truly happy when all the attention is focused on you; rather like Jonathan Ross, only without the lisp. And when my time is up, and you rather formally shake my hand before you go, I sense in your touch, and see in your eyes, that you've got the same feeling that I get, when my dog's just had a shit in the street and I have to pick it up. And as you walk stylishly away, I know that, just like this year's winner of Crufts, you're the result of hundreds of years of careful inter breeding. And for some reason I find myself humming the song 'My perfect cousin' by the Undertones. And when you've gone, I feel debased and dirty, tarnished and degraded, I feel unclean, and that's when I decide that never again will I allow myself, to be introduced to the Queen.

Copyright © Jim Higo 2009

This poem can also be read on iPoetry, the poetry app for the iphone/ipod touch available on the Apple iTunes App Store.

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