The Invitation

Okay. A theme of "pretentiousness". No one enjoys this attribute in other people, except when thinking of Frasier Crane, and we laugh with him, don't we? Right. With this in mind, my poem is from the viewpoint of someone who is invited to attend a soiree (!) with their brother-in-law and his condescending wife. Read on.



The Invitation

What’s that you’ve got there in the post?
No – don’t pretend to be engrossed.
It seems addressed to you and me:
An invitation? Let me see.
R.S.V.P.? So who’s it from?
Oh no, Melissa and your Tom
Or “Thomas” as he now prefers –
Unless the choice of name is hers.

All right. Your brother. Yes, I know,
But do we really have to go?
Snobbishness to such excess,
Continual pretentiousness.
When they explain, they condescend:
Advocating each new trend.
And so obscure: that’s so they may
reject all others as “passé.”

I really cannot comprehend
Why anyone would want to spend
Five minutes, let alone a full
five hours list’ning to such bull.
I mean, come on – you must admit
The way they carry on’s a bit
too much with all the names they drop.
Their bedroom’s like a knocking shop.

I see you laughing. You agreed.
They only follow what’s decreed
by Philip, their décor guru.
Abandoned taste, but then, what’s new?
The cloakroom with Egyptian tiles
Looks like a loo for paedophiles.
I don’t think Tom quite understood
my point of view – as if he would.

And have you seen Melissa when
She’s be-ing an air kisser, then
To “mwah” and “mwah” we all succumb;
Her lips: just like a baboon’s bum.
And that reminds me: they have been
to Africa, to sights unseen
by any on the planet earth…
That’s what they’ll say. For what it’s worth.

Have you forgotten New Year’s Eve?
(I thought that we would never leave)
Melissa’s latest weirdo views:
She made us all remove our shoes
And all because she said the ch’i
Would be affected adversely
if we did not, and so I said
“A panda? Watch out where you tread.”

The blindfolds that we wore last time
to watch their operatic mime,
The abstract art from chimpanzees,
The endless new philosophies.
The caterers providing food:
Some looked like it had been pre-chewed.
Cricket’s not a sport I like,
But on the plate? Get on your bike.

Alright, alright. I know that face.
We’re going. Yes, I know my place.
Don’t spare another thought for me
and send off that R.S.V.P.
The final word; I get the gist –
Urinal jokes are off the list.
I’ll try my best; I won’t be rude –
Unless they’re serving insect food.