Vinegar And Chips Poem by Mark Heathcote

Contemporary fashion, furniture
is like vinegar and chips.
All-your animal prints, zebra and hyena
They're all your communal garden type, mix.
Of course, there's a few like tropic fish
too loud, garish in taste.
That solely belongs to those tasteless rich
that has Nero Marquina black marble floors
a White tiger rug with authentic splatters of blood.
That lure for striped marlin with rotting flesh,
busy as a noisy bumblebee, "calls to make."
For another chic chaise lounge
and a girl in a frilly thong and black dress
delivered all the way from Portland street,
Cowloon, red district Hong Kong.
They say earn your stripes, pay your dues
make your pit stops, take my advice.
"Play your music loud like Transvision Vamp,
modern-day existence—hasn't changed
soon we'll be the ones endangered
extinct - paying the after Earth Summit blues."