An (anti) Valentine's poem
Eleanor Brown's poem Bitcherel proves there's nothing like a woman scorned...
You ask what I think of your new acquisition;
and since we are now to be ‘friends’,
I’ll strive to the full to cement my position
with honesty. Dear – it depends.
It depends upon taste, which must not be disputed;
for which of us does understand why some like their furnishings pallid and muted,
their cookery wholesome, but bland?
There isn’t a law that a face should have features,
it’s just that they generally do;
God couldn’t give colour to all of his creatures,
and only gave wit to a few;
I’m sure she has qualities, much underrated,
that compensate amply for this,
along with a charm that is so understated
it’s easy for people to miss.
And if there are some who choose clothing to flatter
what beauties they think they possess,
when what’s underneath has no shape,
does it matter if there is no shape to the dress?
It’s not that I think she is boring precisely,
that isn’t the word I would choose;
I know there are men who like girls who talk nicely
and always wear sensible shoes.
It’s not that I think she is vapid and silly;
it’s not that her voice makes me wince;
but – chilli con carne without any chilli
is only a plateful of mince...
Bitcherel by Eleanor Brown is taken from Thirteen Poems of Revenge, published by Candlestick Press.