on the ceiling,
above my bed,
a king of hearts,
shows his head,
stuck to the ceiling,
eternally bound looking down,
scowl in many colours,
en-wrapped in golden gown,
locked in this dormitory,
in this University ‘cupboard’,
the men and women,
they can come and go,
he is pictured in finery,
a royal with a window view,
looking crown on his domain,
but playing card all the same,
life deals the deck,
the cards prefixed,
decisions made,
eyes transfixed,
an exhibit about himself,
a pleasing king of arrogance,
a truly virtuous haughty head,
he is so stuck-up, emotion fled.
All about himself,
There is a playing card stuck to my ceiling, covering a hole. I can see it in one of the small dormitories of a UK University where some previous wag has pinned it. The students come and go in the learning below it and its amusing at first but then ignored. The stuck-up person has for a me an English flavour, I’m sure they exist elsewhere!, but upperclass English are a particular group well suited to being – to behaving in manners that say ‘I am better than you!, I was born this way – it is the way nature intended, get used to it’ the fact that i am deigning to be in your presence is a gift’ etc.
Many stuck persons are rich, so have power to do things their own ways, ok. But they and poorer cousins also exist as stuck-up, as the outpouring of their identity, they are locked into being something they are not; we are equals. We are born we live for a moment and we die. Whatever purpose their construct brings them, they are in part to be pitied as they have misinterpreted life.
A bit harsh?