It’s a swell, a baby booster kit day,
And the American champagne flows free.
The Peligoni Club Barbeque;
It’s the perfect way to keep Mum.
At 150 pounds per head, including a massage, facial and manicure;
Or a pedigree;
Holiday giant Thomson certainly thinks so.
Find a villa somewhere exciting,
Fill it with like-minded friends,
Spend a week, walking,
Far from the pressures of modern life.
How could she refuse the innovation?
He stood over against the wall,
a gangling, long-limbed man,
With the face of a seedy intellectual. I,
A representative for a British firm of machine tool
Manufacturers, stare over at little Bud,
And his little sister Weiser,
Whose eyes had retreated into his shadowed sockets.
I’ll have four colgate smiles please, and a crate of concord to go
Never mind that he’s been bonding with Kappa slapper,
the reckless, fanatical Czech machine tool Czarina,
Who is sitting,
Just to my right.
Dear, Coo-Coo Ca-Chou,
With a diamond as big as the Ritz,
Mr. Thomson loves you less than you do know, although,
Perhaps behind the smile, the handshakes,
beyond the chairs, the manners,
There is a knowing,
And is it, or is it not, Mrs. Thomson, a family affair?