Complacency (part 2)

The olde worlde manne buffed up his puff
and spoke, mellifluously, but in a strangled voice
that whistled in his breath, through classic English teeth
not-quite-concealed below his baccy ‘tache…

“I voted to turn back the clock.  Ourselves alone,
the insular, in poverty, you know…   And now
I’m in the writers’ group!  We’re such a cosy clique
which meets together, every other week, 
to stroke ourselves, to pat each other on the cheek;
to share some jokes (that no-one else can know!)
and tell our friends how really, jolly nice we are…

“I know that strangers do take part, sometimes;
but I’ve devised a cunning plan! Haha!
It will be barratry (albeit smartly dressed):
we’ll hike the sub, we’ll bundle things
they never need or use, to make it plain
outsiders are not welcome here.
Three hundred percent!   That should do the trick!!  Haha!

And look here, don’t you fret your pretty heads: 
I know we once were 50, and now we’re only ten;
but why should that matter?!   Even if the bulkheads fail
and we should drift our ship aground, a wreck
will bring us respite, from creation’s toil and bite…
My dears!  Whatever might be wrong with that? 
It is the English way, you know.   Haha haha!”

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