The town man

cold, flinty, knows his business

no time for pleasantries

Stay out of his way

He’s no time to waste

The country man

dusty, sweat and salt

stain the cap he wears

He’s in no hurry

always time to chat

even if you say nothing

The suburban dweller

insect like conformity

tasteless posers on parade

Display possessions

it’s their charade

The most pathetic

luckless lot

lemmings lusting

for what you’ve got

All dressed the same

of one vacant mind

The herd afield

and miles behind