Enjoy my English poem about Flapper Fashion in the 20's:


Stomping her feet when she won’t get her way
A generation of babies, what more to say?
Their parents were “squares” obsessed with “correct”
Their kids getting off with their talks about sex.
How did we let this happen? Taking swigs at the table?
I thought we were wild, how are they able?
We just want to be heard, so we dance and we sing
'Cause when I'm dancin' the Charleston this dress has got wings.
And the boys, they all want them, 'cause they're not like their mom
who waited in white in the corner at Prom.
No, these girls have got style.
Their hair is too short, their music too wild.
And reasons for dancing and smoking are clear.
Perhaps we all just need someone to hear.
And until someone did, or until someone does
They're Flappers, non-conformists, something like us.