Shall I take umbrage at the finger tee?
A middle finger brash on cotton shirt.
I shall assume it was not meant for me;
this flipping of the bird was quite overt.
While walking in the park it happened by,
worn proudly by a jogger in a sweat.
On passing I held gazes to the sky;
beneath rough winds I struggled not to fret.
A statement to establishment perhaps?
Tis true society has eased the reins.
When dark clouds form there’s often thunderclaps,
and unsophisticated crude remains.
The bird doth shake the darling buds of May;
it seems that there are better things to say.