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NO TRACE OF GRACE

Eagerly, we fill our planners,
Waving still our angry banners.
We forget
Etiquette;
What has happened to our manners?

At the table, in the store,
On the freeway hear us roar.
Rushed? You bet.
Ruder yet.
Each of us becomes a boor.

Courtesy has disappeared.
Kindness flew, as many jeered.
Witty quips
And bolder blips
Flaunt what our forefathers feared.

Still, we scramble to impress
When we ought to bow, confess.
Class-less clowns,
Earning frowns,
For our manners are a mess.

Learn more about this author, Linda Ann Nickerson.
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