This poem wears green eye shadow, and rainbow lipstick
This poem doesn’t own a clock, but knows how one ticks
This poem says – Wham, Bam, Thank You – Sir
This poem sports politically correct faux fur
This poem drives a silver Aston Martin DB4
With fluffy dice, fat wheels and four on the floor
It’s automatic, systematic and culturally clued
This poem rhymes when it doesn’t have to
This poem gives – and gets – oral pleasure
This poem is like, yeah, you know, whatever
This poem is gold-dipped, glitter-dusted and fairy-wanded
It knows a life half lived is a whole life squandered
This poem remembers a time before cellulite
This poem’s a pacifist but loves a good fight
This poem is bound for glory, this poem
Yee haa
This poem salutes irony, sarkiness and farce
This poem swaps showers for long soaks in the bath
This poem eats chocolate, and doesn’t brush its teeth,
This poem swims with dolphins, in the Great Barrier Reef
This poem has a personal trainer, but only for tea
This poem wears a singlet, and watches crap TV
This poem dyes its hair, and shows off its roots
This poem stands on one leg, and plays a small flute
This poem knows
when the writer is locked, and off floats the key
It can be whatever it needs to be.
This poem can fricassee, fillet a fish and quenelle
It’s a plus sized model on the cover of Elle,
It can strip wallpaper, plumb a kitchen and re-invent
But doesn’t give a toss of rocket cos it can only afford to rent
This poem is a greenie eco freaky nerd,
Cos it knows a poem is ultimately just recycled words.
Lisa D'Onofrio
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