The Infantile

the summer air felt 

heavier after French class

more than any other time, 

cookie cutter infantiles

queued at the tuckshop 

salivating over the sugar

covered doughnuts,

friends were strictly by name only,

the pack mentality bothered me,

“the boys a lone wolf”

they’d say, “he barely talks”,

my words were assets, 

I needed to invest them wisely,

spin them, maintain them

and multiply them, I was 

my own economy

 

the story of the infantiles 

is a short and boring one,

they learn the lie

and memorise it,

they find a partner they 

went to school with,

have a kid, purchase a house

they can’t afford and 

a fancy car on credit,

they pay into a pension,

maintain a healthy social circle,

regularly discussing 

the benefits of diversity safe 

within their 2-mile community,

they book exactly three

places at the local cemetery,

they lived and they died 

half a mile away from

where they went to school,

the infantile’s called me a fool

when I couldn't be bothered

with university,

I own my house, I own my car

I got married to a girl 

who came from afar, 

I have no pension 

for the government to syphon,

I invested in gold, 

it’s now three times the price,

I’m fucking made for life,

we didn’t bring a child

into this cesspit of a world

just so we have someone

to baby us when we get old,

take my advice,

never eat the sugar covered

donuts from the tuckshop