at right angles to beauty,

geometry's not my friend,

full reservoirs of make-up

my proportions won't mend

 

other girls seem so pretty

my torso's a basket case

lobster nose, carrot hair,

mirrors crack at my face

 

I dream of drastic surgery

features lissom and new

Romeos on my doorstep

aftershaves in a queue

 

each day flushed torture

in a self-conscious snare

self-image lies bleeding, I

seek gremlins in my hair

 

but take my old aunt Bella

witch-like warts and huge,

never short of a a fella, she

swore by a dab of rouge

 

news about gorgeous Cass,

with the Betty Grable legs,

a car smash on the by-pass,

she's lost both of her pegs

 

at scarlet ward doors I halt,

glance at a cracked compact,

poor Cass sobs, sad lips red

as ever yet at least I'm intact