The Textile Workers’ Union, complaining that £100,000 worth of hosiery is still being imported into Australia, has asked for more protection.
The legs that twinkle down the street, Shapely, silk-clad, very sweet, Used to distract us in our youth Ere brutal economic truth Led us, by sad and sober ways, To sober thought of later days. Now with a cold and callous eye We mark the legs that twinkle by, And in their silken sheen but see Political economy. And reckon as they gaily flash How much, per leg, we lose in cash. The politician, dour and grim, What is the female limb to him? His eye is on the costly hose And, as the sad deficit grows: “Imported or Australian made?” He asks with all his mind on trade. Now politics have killed romance. No ankle wins a second glance. So, darlings, since the foreign hose Have not the lure that you suppose You might, so far as I can see, Encourage local industry. The legs that twinkle down the street, Tho’ undeniably still neat, To man’s stern eye now represent A loss of so-and-so per cent. In solid unaesthetic cash, Alas, the leg has lost its dash.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2003|