A Little Number

Before I was born
Just a twinkle
In the universe
Of possibilities

Reflected in eyes
Both bluest grey
And olive green
Did you know me?

Or was the I of me
And mine all one to you?
My seedling promised,
But unplanned

Was a meeting of
Hearts and minds
Foretold in song
To bardic strains

Or merely Cast
Upon the plain and
Simple lines
That sprang and pranced

This two-fold dance
Of fire and ice
Your foreign couplings
Kept apart

By Mother Earth
Who did not dream
Of feelings torn
From the widening

Womb-like walls
And shallow shores
Of an underground
Kingdom

Nuts and Colonels
Carried away
With crowns of pine,
From slender hopes

To careful, caring
Tender traps in
Wadded cotton
Whose snoring sheets

Wedded Pluto’s
Darker dreams to
Persephone’s Oblivion
Before there was me

The Yellow Brick Road

We sacrifice our girls in white
And show them off for all to see
Our hopes so high, all eyes so bright
At visions of their liberty

Proud future with a man on hand
To beat the path before she’s trod
In something smelly; wedding band
Dictates decisions after God

We procreate in timely row
And join the ranks of motherhood
Assured our place cemented now
On honour roll of great and good

And once the kids are grown and gone
Once more we seek a change of pace
Begin the slide from humble mum
To prod our daughters as a race

In conscientious steps we tread
Fill heads with values loud and long
So no lamb wanders off instead
To seek a life on paths unknown

Footloose and Fancy

Oh, what can I wear to a wedding
To properly show my disdain
For the smug and the proud
Talking ever so loud
How our turn will come soon (yet again)

I’m so tired of this constant assurance
That there’s someone on Earth for us all
And the moment we find them
We must rush to bind them
Domesticate each tortured soul

I’ve been with my someone for years now
We’ve watched many marriages fail
And as far as we’ve seen
All the diff’rence between
Them and us was some rings and a veil

Still I doubt I can stand there in trainers
And scowl as they swish down the aisle
For all wishes aside
It’s not fair on the bride
Guess I’ll bear with my bunions and smile

Matchmaker, matchmaker, break me some chairs

My mother, from a tender age
Provoked in me an untold rage.
A constant stream of boys she fed
So hoping soon to see me wed.
But without fail, my dear old mum
Her process of selection done,
Presented me, ‘mid gleeful joy
With one especial type of boy:
A lovely lad, quite neat and clean
So liberal he voted Green,
And above all, (it made my day)
Yes, quite invariably gay.