Little Boy It's Time You Learned
To respect your elders and their cherished illusions.
You pointed your finger at me and shouted,
‘There’s nothing there; he isn’t wearing anything!’
Well, do you take me for a fool
That I don’t know the difference
Between the rub of a good bit of stuff
And the wind stroking my backside?
If it wasn’t a warm summer
I wouldn’t have done it.
I’m a shy person really
But it was worth the embarassment
To see those fools of weavers
And their tatty miming with imaginary threads.
I had to suspend my disbelief
To the point of nincompoopery;
And in the street, with all the women
Eying my genitals and cheering!
I smiled at one of them and I knew
That she knew that I knew, so I winked
And she smiled back at me so I sent
One of my serfs to promise her
That she could come to the palace
And model a dress of the same material.
When the weavers asked for their cash
I said that first I wanted them to make
A hundred cubits of rope from their thread
And when they brought it I said
That would do very well and made them use it
To abseil down the wall of the north tower.
You can’t fool gravity.
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