1st December 2013

Sonnet 29

You look best with big big hair; black kohl'd eyes;

But the paps like you looking in a state,

 You don't do sad little Cath Kidson cries;

Equating sex with food is your just fate.

Stepford wives  - they do not compute false hope,

They measur'd your life by what you possess'd -

The Mister was rich -  so that was the scope

Of pity (you've got some millions at least).

The irony of him caught despising

You while dining al fresco in said state

Gave rise to column inches - arising

Bitches of jealous revenge at your gate.

   Pretended joys that being married brings!

   Common to goddesses**; hausfraus and kings. 


*Cath Kidston - purveyor of  "nice" domestic goods.

**As in domestic.