George, you must write better

Poor George is out of luck,
His jumper's backwards, hair stuck up.
He'll chase away the morning blues
with breakfast tea and the sports news.

London is a concerto
in which his solo is going wrong.
everyone seems to know their parts;
he has to make it up as he goes along.

 

Back in school, he finds his seat
Next to a sunny thing, reticent and sweet.
Walking home, he vows to tell her
how he's dreamt of her since, well, forever.

The next day, crumpled in his fist:
a love letter like any old shopping list.
George, you must do better.
Oh George, you must write better.

 

Lizzy fell for George for her part,
and the confusion in his smile;
though she knew she'd never give her heart to
one who wrote with such little style.

Now she goes with a boy who took summer lessons in caligraphy.
One who wrote so neat could clearly handle responsibility.
She'll stay with that prick now, as much as he may upset her.
Oh George, George you must write better.