A day at the races

 The cursor, I curse her

But what is the use Marks and Spencers dancer

Or model of truth

Her M and S soul is a thing I aspire to

Probably it's not love

It's just social clamouring

Or climbing

It's my inferiority of shopping at Aldi not Tescos

It's the rich poor gap writ large on my soul

I don't reflect her

She has a light for sure

An established middle classness

Of my step mother

What was I expected to be ?

A gardener at the National Trust would have been acceptable

But I never wanted that

If career life is not to be a failure

Perhaps I'll try and shake it

Or fake it til I make it

To shop in M and S more than once

a year

But that is really success in Britain

Being able to attain and maintain the same social class as your parents

Measure yourself in money, in houses and cars

He's got it comfortably

With my job I'll struggle

And even with a token degree

All I've ever done is hustle

It doesn't ever spell a day at the beach or a retirement home

Just to rest at peace alone

Would be an achievement

But I'm always off to shoot and skin another beaver

Maybe I should just move back to Canada

And leave her