She’s a Wintonian, a proper blue-blood
Sixties-fledgling from a nest in Fulflood
No financial burdens, she reckons she could
Do-good
As an Oxfam volunteer
He’s a Wintonian, lives close to the station
London Waterloo, his midweek destination
55 minutes from more wealth-creation
At the location
Of his privileged career
She’s a Wintonian and Estate Agent-boss
A fortune made from overselling St. Cross
Though it does little to offset the loss
Of son Josh
To a condition most severe
He’s a Wintonian, with few airs and graces
Plays the markets with other poker-faces
Carefully day-trades on candlestick-traces as
Red braces
Constrain stomach fed on beer
She’s a Wintonian, and please understand
That you need a country pile before she’ll take your hand
To The Brookes shopping centre she never does strand,
But she already plans
In Silverhill, to appear
He’s a Wintonian and he races old Bentleys
Down country lanes near Chalfont St. Rent-free
Takes no prisoners in eager attemptery
As not-so-gently
He engages fourth gear
He’s no Wintonian – this one seeks handouts
That “Big Issue” cry SO makes him stand out
On selling fifty, he’s back to Hampton, South
Lives hand-to-mouth
Till opportunity comes near
Copyright, Jody Redmires, 2015
