Dirty Shirtsleeves
Stuck bored in the corner-
Left claw on her stout, left heel on whomever
Sat there to adorn her.
Dirty Shirtsleeves
Upped and out - after just Ten Thirty-
Her eyes kept for Greenland;
Her step not so sturdy.
All the New Londoners awaiting the bank
Standing outside, ignoring the stank
Of open-air sandals dining al fresco
Yes, decaying toes that belong to Art Decko,
And his Pair of Students...
Lovely as a gouged mountain goat chorus,
Super-Engaged, they chat of Ionesco,
In lilting tongues that never could bore us,
But Dirty Shirtsleeves plots surely to whore us...
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