The Look

In the thick of a seedy pool hall
It’s not about luck at all
It’s in the way you walk on through
The casual way you chalk your cue
The practiced way your rack the set
And the smile you give as you accept the bet
It’s in the way you shrug and say
“I really don’t think it’s my lucky day!”
It comes down to the way you approach the break
Your calm steady gaze as you make
The shot and the manner in which
You calmly dismiss the competition
It’s our long standing pool playing tradition
The act of coolly psyching out
The opposition, leaving them without a doubt
That they don’ t have a hope in hell
Of playing even vaguely well

So Jules and I we raised some hell
We played pool divinely well
We accepted the challenge with a smile
From some gentlemen totally without guile
We beat them fair and square
With our particular brand of flair
And left them standing at the table
Totally unable to show
The damage to the male ego

The following morning I had to go
To the birthday party as I told you so
My head felt like a helium balloon
Floating somewhere up near the moon
I smiled politely at all and sundry
And downed fresh orange juice with glee
I spent the rest of the day in bed
Nursing a very very poor sore head!

On Friday, my BodyTalk therapist mentioned detox in offhand tones
It didn’t communicate feeling ill to my bones
I spent most of the weekend sick in bed
Feeling horrible from my toes right up to my head
I threw up and lay down and then did it again
Doubled up with excruciating stomach pain
I’m still reeling a little from the after effects
A little like suffering vertigo if you’re a tyrannosaurus rex

Luke’s turning 4 as I think I’ve said
And I’ve avoided a party this year, instead
We’re taking the Gang to Buddy Bear
To make their own best friend forever
I hope I get the invites out in time
Or I’ll be a Mum cut down in her prime!

I got a little something to put a spring in my step
For spring day a fabulous strawberry punnet
The peacock’s been getting into the spirit of things
Parading his tail feathers and puffing out his wings
The pea hen doesn’t seem so keen
I think she likes to keep him mean
Aside from which it’s cold outside
Especially for a child bride

I realise that my cigarette addiction
Is more than a physical affliction
I smoke because I’m bored
Because for 10 minutes I’m assured
Of something to do and someone to chat to
Of getting some sun and some fresh air
Imagining what I would buy if I were a millionaire
So I succumbed and had a puff
Only to realise that I’ve had enough
Of tobacco breath and that queasy feeling
Now I’ll spend the next week climbing the ceiling

Marais should count his blessings one to ten
That I don’t have PMS and hate all men
He needs to start watching his choice of words
When describing chicks, girls and birds
Actually it’s just me he’s out to offend
Or simply put, to drive me round the bend
I think it’s time I put my status into play
And delegate some work his way
He’ll need to love me then I think
Especially if he plans to have a drink
At the bar when it opens at 4
I have the power to shut the door
On those aspirations and call the CD
To turn Marais into a very very busy little bee

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