193. the Glossies
it’s where old soapstars
go to die
after their fifteen minutes,
and celebrities
whose only perceptible talent
is alighting from a taxi
gynaecologically.
the paparazzi-friendly grace
the autumnal glossy leaves of
OK, Hello & their ilk
– their natural habitat –
& are swept up
at the dentist’s & doctor’s
bearing wizened orange faces baring
snow-white veneers
& airbrushed to death
oven-ready
as they are
and announced in single names
that assume familiarity
with spellings that threaten
to dislocate a jaw
if spoken aloud.
Nature abhors a loser
they sneer
through powdery white nostrils
– or is it me, maybe,
just getting bitter & twisted ?