Oh Lenora

They paint a world
In permanent sunshine
never show the rain
except when it suits
and in this particular advertisement
the product is lenor.

Lenor, with micro touch technology.

sod off!

Its washing powder
Sodium bicarbonate at best.
With some smelling things thrown in.

it works
They fool us with the dream
Oh bouncing Lenora,
I can see what you mean.

I want a piece
of your white smile, girlies galore
Sporting summer dress and painted paws
Padding down perfect
Over meadows, with stubbly hubby in tow
all Italian like, all latin like
lovers
Hand in hand
Like a daisy chain
How perfect
How quaint
How unrealistic
this skipping
Permanent sunshine
In alpine rolling hills
Not a tear or a cloud in sight
Not a soil stained garment
Such is the might of this television deception

I buy into it.

Why shouldn’t I, have you seen the view outside?
give me some hope
I tried to find beauty in smoke stacks that rise,
a florescent tube sunrise
a freezing morning
the bar fire has died
the pan fried fish lies half cooked
a hash brown I made
My wire-wound porcelain insides,
That used to glow,
Committed suicide.

Enticements don’t help
Its all artificial where I live
Our cows aren’t called daisy
And they don’t have bells
they don’t wash in lenor
or celebrate the smells of success
Rather the broken stiletto night workers
Every one a sow by a pimp,
patch holes in address,
a lame limp
Overlooked by punter
Its still a hole.
illuminated
brightly illuminted
poking
highlighted
brilliance
you must be joking, this has got to end, surely
a paper aeroplane ill send, im high enough
it will have a hand written message inside, pleading
begging it to stop
oh God, the colours you paint!
on a backdrop of radio rentals
massive glass shop front windows
where the advertisements display
42 cathode ray tube televisions
all tuned to the same channel
lenor flashes lenor cures lenor washes the senses
42 thousand footsteps
pass the pavement
and wipe the floor
but the enamel is wearing thin
on all of us
trudging
each looking
down
each the fading grin
as they realise
this is it
the dream is elusive in Lenora
whilst our clothes may be washed
in all your petro-chemical delights
whilst our wool may fluff
and our whites not quite
whiter than white
the sorry fact is
the Alps and that utopia you paint
dear advertiser
ain’t something
we can reach
I would call it pie in the sky
But that’s optimistic
As I live on the eleven floor
Of the high rise
You see
I may just reach out and grab it
And that just wouldn’t do for you
wish us down, don’t you?
will want pound, wont you?
never been far around your globe, that’s true
No
Many will touch
Only in lines
Or lager
In refines of chemicals cut with talc
Or the liquid over teaspoon needle scratching scalp
frustration
pulling our hair out
And the ones with nothing left
Bare chest, or use marker pen on head

Scribing messages

waiting in hope
For god to read