Life Is a Serious Business Read Online Free Page A

LINEN
    I still buy my perfume in the duty free,
    White Linen by Estee Lauder is the one for me.
    Week before Christmas in the local victuallers
    Placing my order for Christmas requisites
    Assistant with that effervescent good humour
    Assures me of the best on offer.
    Heads together perusing order book,
    He says enquiringly “White Linen?”
    â€œHow did you guess?”
    â€œI buy it for a lovely lady.”
    And I think ” A lucky lady.”
    Months later at penthouse level,
    Building site, hard hats,
    Architect discussing layouts.
    Heads together, perusing drawings,
    He says enquiringly,
    â€œMay I ask you a very personal question?
    What’s that lovely perfume you are wearing?”
    â€œWhite Linen.” I reply,
    â€œI think I’ll buy it for a lovely lady.”
    And I think “ Another lucky lady!”

S ELF HELP
    I am of the firm belief that people who write self help books,
    Have never worked on a building site.
    Take one of the more recent offerings,
    Be impeccable in your speech.
    Why do you think people who work on building sites
    wear hard hats?
    If a heavy object is descending at the speed of light
    from the seventh floor
    And you happen to be in its line of descent,
    I think the odd expletive is perfectly acceptable.
    Do not take things personally.
    I am a sub contractor for goodness sake!
    Who is going to look after my interests if I don’t?
    The main contractor is far too busy
    To bother concerning himself with me.
    Communicate.
    I don’t have time for idle gossip. I have a deadline to keep.
    Just do the best you can.
    That’s all very well.
    But why should I have to pay for the extras
    Just because one of the other subcontractors
    is having
    a bad hair day?

T HE ONSET OF TIME
    Time has a habit of moving along,
    And some of these offerings in the past they belong.
    Old age is beckoning, say the powers that be,
    But when have I even listened to thee?
    Researchers have explained, in logically terms,
    Why it is we all change our forms.
    But have they not heard of camouflage or wile?
    So for now, I will shuffle on with beguile.
    Imagination and smoky mirrors
    Are all that I need,
    So watch out old age,
    You’re not getting me!
    If you find this a little facetious,
    The next one may appear less specious;
    But be warned, it’s not very pleasant,
    So feel free to stick with the present.

O LD AGE
    Old age is a pain and a curse,
    But sadly it befalls most of us.
    I wish I had lived in a medieval time,
    When man reportedly died in his prime.
    To think of the efforts I’ve made,
    With diet, pilates and exercise crusade.
    Bridges and implants and crown,
    All to come tumbling down.
    Three score years and ten,
    Is the life expectancy of men.
    Seventy is the new fifty, I am told,
    So I have twenty more years of this hell hole.
    Arthritis, colitis and varicose veins,
    Liquid diets, roughage and zimmer frames.
    My lungs are the colour of soot,
    My digestion is shot, my eyesight’s kaput.
    No wonder men no longer make passes,
    Has anyone seen my glasses?
    And the tablets I take, red ones, pink ones and blue,
    And ones for my blood pressure too.
    Hear the old crone in me cackle,
    Please don’t shake me, I rattle.
    Whoever said old age reveals your spiritual side,
    Was probably twenty and definitely svelte.
    I had a vision of a nice nursing residence,
    But my children have emigrated with their inheritance.
    So I guess I will just have to hope,
    That they find the elixir of youth.
    Sneer, if you will, but at your peril,
    Old age is a persistent bedfellow.

H IGH FASHION
    Forward ordering for Spring
    Two little old ladies, feeble of feet,
    Finding the stairs a little steep,
    â€œWho is it today?” I ask, voice aquiver,
    â€œIt’s that new shop I told you about.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s that new shop, I told you about,
    Remember?”
    â€œOh Yes, I must have forgotten.”
    â€œWhat’s the colour for Spring?”
    â€œIt