Stockcars, stockcars, stockcars, bloody stockcars
All those noisy battered hulks are super stars
In Malcom’s galaxy, his grand obsession.
No need to guess what is his prize possession
Or what he rambles on about incessantly.
That there is more to life he cannot seem to see.
We’re painters and the firm put us together
On domestic work which made me wonder whether
Former mates declined to work with him again.
That’s probable. Now our relationship is under strain.
He means well, truly does, but drives me up the wall
I’m sorry for him. Tried to tell him. Did no good at all.
If a lady makes us morning tea and wants to chat
I try to have the conversation focus on the things that
Interest her. Local events, her children’s school
Rising prices, weather. All safe subjects as a rule.
But such polite exchange of views is not to be
When Malcom muscles in and launches his soliloquy.
The firm has let things slide, afraid to hurt his feelings,
But basic social skills are needed in one’s dealings
With the public and of these, poor fish, he has most urgent need.
An excellent tradesman, fast, meticulous, and indeed
My equal but how people see us is what it’s about
And that is not my problem. Let the bosses to sort it out.