Phony

In the bustling High Street’s polished glare,
A smile is offered, bright but bare—
A glossy coat of courteous cheer,
Hollow as a shop‑window’s veneer.

Words tumble out like sugar‑spun biscuits,
Sweet to taste yet lacking substance,
Each pleasantry a well‑rehearsed act,
A performance for the passing traffic.

Behind the curtain of genteel pretence,
Lies a heart that beats in quiet defence,
Wearing a mask of false propriety,
While truth remains a distant, shy melody.

So let the lorry rumble past the façade,
And the pavement hear the genuine sod—
For phony charms may dazzle the crowd,
Yet authenticity sings the loudest, unbowed.