PoetryKafe

She’s surgically ironed her original face
And stretched her eyes way round the back
The chins have moved on
And the crow’s feet have gone,
Her surgeon’s removed all the slack
The boobs are augmented
The lips are cemented
And teeth show no visible rot
She’s altered the look
Of a haggard old chook
And presents as someone she’s not
But her neck is still crepey,
her hands gaunt and shaky
We’re motral, we shrivel and die
Everyone ages in pre-ordained stages
Joan Rivers is living a lie
What happens to all of these false apparitions
When buried and dead in the ground
Which bits rot away, and which other bits stay
What relics will one day be found?
Silicon wads will emerge from the sods
In cemeteries all round the globe
Synthetics and plastic and surgical elastic
Subject to archaelogical probe
The biodegradable parts disappear
leaving Botox and strange looking bits
Maggots can’t chew
Through surgical glue
All that’s left will be collagen and tits

by Dianne Foley
Poem Sponsored by MyStyleDump

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