Tom Cat

The Man-Child in the Room He spits his dummy out the pram, For the truth he doesn't give a dam, You offer sense, he throws a name, As if an insult wins the game. He talks right over every word, The loudest voice must be heard, No quiet pause, no second thought, For him, because he is bought. He stamps, he shouts, he slams the door, A tantrum worthy of aged four, The floor is lava, truth is too, When facts don't bend to his worldview. And wrong? Oh no, not him, not ever, His halo polished, fraying never, The mirror tells him he's the sage, While we watch on while he will rage You cannot reason, cannot win, You cannot soothe the storm within, So let him sulk and let him pout, For he's a lefty, have no doubt.