Forgive the wayward romance title [though never should you have to forgive actual wayward romances], I’m in an odd mood: half-elated, half-luckshy – as if luck were a concept I both love and hate.
Either way, I’m a lucky beggar, me.
Yesterday I read the new issue of Structo – something you should do too, if you’ve time and literary enthusiasm – and came across a poem called ‘Office Girls’ that is both true and hilarious. Though not excellent poetry, it is so cuttingly, cerebral-bloody that it will ring true with any reader that works in an office.
I reproduce it here in all its glory so that you can heap small praises on the writer, Vanessa Bootle, and read Structo for its interest.
So various ailments are getting you down
Your all over weight-gain is making you frown
You have fat chubby ankles and small saggy breasts
You’re having bad hair and your flat is a mess
You can’t smoke or drink as it makes you look old
You live on your own and have no one to hold –
But your social life equals your Mum’s once a week
Laura Ashley and Next are your version of chic
You feel so hard done by; you’re into self-help
Though McKenna’s Hypnosis just sits on your shelf
Your clothes don’t quite fit with your huge muffin top
But give you some cakes and you’ll scoff down the lot
You’re a perfect size ten but try to eat less
Craving attention to blend in with the rest
Low-fat lunches and dinners are topics for talk
But you’d rather be driving than taking a walk
You’re moaning about things time and again;
Hair and your figure, clothes, money and men
You’re stuck like a jumping record that’s broke
Sitting there sipping your diet cherry coke
And maybe I’m sorry I’ve slated your way
But I sit in an office and HEAR YOU ALL DAY.
Though the above poem isn’t the best poem I’ve read all week, it’s those last two lines that get me: I feel as though the last lines should be more punctuated – “And maybe I’m sorry I’ve slated your way…/ But I sit in an office and HEAR YOU. ALL. DAY.”
Oh – did I mention that’s it free to read?