Puttin’ on the Ritz

It’s time for afternoon tea at the Ritz
For our alien neighbours from Mars;
They’ve heard the songs of its glamour and glitz
So zipped over to mingle with stars.

They’ve dressed the part in their high hats and furs
Look a million dollars top drawer;
The lavish service, the ‘madams’ and ‘sirs’
Makes them feel like they’re worth even more.

“Champagne? Why yes, that is just what we need”
So the pop of a cork fills the air;
They clink and drink, this is good stuff indeed,
Not the kind you can find anywhere.

Some music starts: it is Irving Berlin,
He is playing the piano nearby;
They catch his eye, he responds with a grin
And a wink that no money can buy.

He takes backseat as the dancing begins
Here come Ginger and Fred to the floor;
Electric tapping on rapidfire pins
It’s the type that demands an encore.

They’re really having a wonderful time
Just surrounded by opulent grace;
Expense be damned, they would spend every dime,
They could scrimp when they went back to space.

Their thoughts then turned towards something to eat,
They were quick to decide in a whizz;
“Some strawberry shortcake, delicious and sweet,
Won’t you bring some to us with more fizz.”

The waitress blanched, she was sorely aghast,
The request made her weak at the knees;
“I’m sorry sir, we have just served our last
We’ve peach shortcake instead if you please.”

In awkward silence ten seconds passed by
As the truth of the matter sunk in;
This wouldn’t do, how could Earthlings deny
Them their cake, when they’d starved themselves thin?

Distraught and angry they stormed out the place
To the saucer they’d parked on the roof;
Incensed, they lasered the hotel from space
So it vanished from sight in a <<poof>>

Advertisements

Fizz

The party begins with the pop of a cork,
Then sparkling is poured amid breathless small talk,
With glasses in hand we all cheerfully clink,
Excitement and joy greet the evening’s first drink.

Each sip of champagne grants a social disguise,
A sprinkle of stardust enlivening our eyes,
The world seen anew in a bubble-fueled state,
Through gold-tinted lenses we each fabricate.