The Moon and the Middle Brows
Oh, thank you, TIME, for your faint praise
Of us humble squares and our quaint little ways.
We "pay our taxes, turn the wheels,"
And usually end up portrayed as heels.
Your praise, O TIME, comes none too soon.
Because we bourgeoisie have reached the moon.
Reviled by the right, scorned by the left,
We've been feeling more than a little bereft.
Could be that we're kin to the prophet of old
Not without honor, save in his own country, we're told.
Should strong backbones and middle brows some day elapse