These are the eyes that never cried
When he died,
But cried for him since
To give the soul a good rinse.
Recently they demanded equal rights,
This pair of eyes,
After one began to whinge
About being hidden by a grown-out fringe.
That was compared to a ski slope at school,
(Kids can be cruel…
Was pierced in its teens
And still is today… but now that feels like a cliché,
The fact that it kept bleeding
Never was resolved
And it remains really very needy
It hasn’t evolved.
The freckles across the nose and cheeks
Are a recurring theme that creeps
Through the years like a dream
Fading in and out
Without anyone ever really knowing what they’re about…
And then there’s the mouth
(If you carry on South)
Which in only its second year
Yelled out grace
Loud and clear, for all to hear
In a crowded café,
And is still prone to do whatever it likes
Regardless of social graces
Or whether the words are escaping at the appropriate times or places.
(c) Gemma Hinton 13/06/15