The dim little girl from the Secondary Modern

Destined to stack shelves and get sacked in due course

With a textual lexis and distinction from Orange

A boyfriend, a baby, a bedsit perforce.

 

The mousey dull stick from the track on the far side

Mocked lightly by fashion, derided by fate

Wore nothing, but nothing to single or statement

Knew little of make-up, was awkward of gait

 

Then a blossoming lump with a rash of complexion

Spouted, was outed, arrived on the scene

Nature attacked her with ironic avengence

She arrived on a beach in Corfu at eighteen

 

Where once a straight blouse was a grateful protection

An ankle length skirt hid the horror from view

Now those eyes, many eyes fixed their fanciful gazes

As her lithe tanning limbs gave impromptu review

 

The guy on that yacht knew not Secondary Modern

Knew nothing of texting or Council House shame

Conception, perception of her Labeless wardrobe

What he saw he adored and he showed his acclaim

 

His national chain of retail outlets

Expanded by threefold the following years

She knew how to stack what the customers wanted

And so carved for herself the best of careers

 

Lauded, applauded and feted on circuits

She never lost touch of just how she began

Understanding of people, aware of their vices

Of their vileness, their weakness, the essence of man

 

As time passaged by the fortunate couple

The blouses and skirts reappeared once again

With no real need to proclaim or make statement

The yacht that begot had now landed in Spain

 

Yes soon a replacement was spied on the foreshore

Dancing and smiling and free as before

The basest attraction, the highest of instinct

Lends power and beauty to form a rapport

 

Educated in life with degrees in perception

Intuitively graced and reality blessed

She got the house and her fair do percentage

Great tits and a winning smile can be more than the equal of privilege and education.