Showpeople
It's a matinee of sorts
Playing out less like life
Showing good reports
Pretty with little strife.
There is the alpha male
And the ubiquitous good wife
And the oddball complaining
Petty piping with a fife.
He struts she struts they strut
Keening in their own pride
Obliging their stereotypes somewhat
Peddling loud insinuations so snide.
Is it so hard to follow the script
When all you require is done
And you walk it through with wit
Passionate without an ounce of fun.
All collapse as the stage goes black
A curtain falling on their throes
A single actor grasping at the light
Dead, till the next daily show.
Stolen from Tarrant Kwok because I follow his blog, almost religiously.
And because I think his writing is the shiznits.
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