Sonnets for plop
Privacy is heresy nowadays.
The little things we once kept to ourselves –
In so many safes on so many shelves –
Would surprise us now in so many ways.
All the more reason to resent plonk and plop,
And the confrontation uninvited
From the artful conmen unindicted.
Could we but confine such stuff to a shop.
A shed once a boat now once more a shed
Is not a palindrome, and plinths are built
To boast glory – not shame, or blame, or guilt.
All that’s required is a shake of the head:
“No, this tells me nothing about my kind.”
We want reflection: like body, like mind.
Disgrace comes easy in a public place.
There are things we do when no one is near –
Out of sight of eye; out of shot of ear –
That would bring blood to the cheeks of each face,
And stop the pipes between lungs, tongue, and brain.
Actions, performed with or without a thought,
Could utterly trump any words you’d wrought
To weigh your transgression down to a plain
Idea; a societal mandate.
We’ve each and every one of us bought in,
So we really needn’t put much thought in;
All we have to do is gesticulate,
State: “This doesn’t speak to me about me;
Keep it to yourself.” Like mind, like body.
Mistaken for art or rubbish