Roger G. McDonald: Sniff

Sniff

I must be really old when those below me

at least in age think I’m not worthy of

a note or email; something that could show me

plain courtesy. Instead I get the shove,

or something like it in a raging silence

for all my time and effort and ideas.

It’s almost time for some symbolic violence;

a metaphoric cuff around the ears.

I’m pretty quick to see these bursts of thunder

Would stamp me from the same mint and the coin

as those who I accuse of this new blunder:

an own goal, or a low blow to the groin.

No. Better, I still think, to cop the rudeness

and, puzzled, shake my head and walk away.

Revenge, of course, has a tempting hugeness,

but dignity, I hope, still wins my day.

What happened to civility and honour?

I don’t mean holding open women’s doors.

(Today’s girl says I cast aspersions on her.

Her mother might still think it worth applause.)

I do mean an acknowledgement that some one

has put themselves to labour, or to pain

on your behalf. And though for now the dumb one,

I still ask: what, in conscience, is your gain?

Roger G. McDonald