"The Corner of My Diary" (Entry 79)

On the corner of my diary, 

There is a perforation. 

A quarter circle to tear away, 

After each eve’s termination. 

Twenty four hours tick by. 

As that time is done. 

Then rip the edge to reveal a bite. 

A place to rest your thumb. 

Tattered paper fragment scatters, 

Represents bygone days. 

All that is left for you to see, 

A passing of your ways. 

As each page turns and eaten up. 

An empty chunk is all you see. 

Of a life slowly gnawed away. 

Dates pass into memories and flee. 

***

 

"Yummy Mummies" (Entry 63)

Here comes the Volvo and the four by four,

And the Jag, or the hybrid; the cars they adore.

It’s the smart set - the preening ladies who lunch - 

Yummy mummies who gossip and munch.

Identical haircuts in identikit lives.

Looking, to all, like the Stepford Wives.

Kiddies sliced out, and shoved into Nanny’s control.

Then trendy daycare and THE right school. That is the goal.

They bray, and they boast, and stick with their peers.

Showing photographs of recitals, gymkhanas and Tarquin’s gap year.

All about image. Keeping up with the in-crowd.

Must follow the herd. Suitable marriage, they vowed.

The children are accessories. The heir and the spare.

Ornaments to dress, show off, and compare.

No more important than other dinner party chat.

Such as their three holidays a year, or who’s getting fat.

These missus’ are more interested in mani/pedi’s and a good facial,

Leaving them Botoxed, injected with a look that is glacial.

So they meet, and they bleat, together in packs.

Then off to the salon for a Brazilian wax.

But where is the love? Where is the care?

Does all that affection goes into an affair

With the personal trainer, who gropes at her breast?

Or does it end up in the empty bottle of Scotland’s best?

Perfect lives. Perfect wives.

Perfect weight. Perfect mate.

Perfect spouse. Perfect house.

Perfect wedding ring. Perfect off-spring.

Perfect folks. Perfect HOAX.

***

"Minute Minutes" (Entry 2)

Though years pass by 
           at measured speed;
I watch my life chase down a path 
I can not follow,
          nor take the lead.

Into the past those seconds melt,
I see my fate the arcanes dealt.
Is it the trail I would have mapped?
Is it a time fulfilled, or destiny's trap?

I can not say. Nor judge my days.
I accept my lot, and embrace the way.
The minute minutes of my story unfolds,
And look forward to my future goals.

***