Waiting For The World
by Katie Haggath
Some sunshiney sunday
While you’re head-bopping back past the pane,
-black skullcandy phones
clamped like clams to your lobes
A head-hunter walking by,
and by coincidence, in your flowerbed,
He’ll exclaim; burst from your beds delighted.
He’s just found the ear-model he’s dreamed to mould
into the perfect pull-out centrefold
of ‘Phones Magazine.
One rain-soaked tuesday,
while you alternate ‘tween whatever teenie-bop chick flick
is making rounds on T.V.
and whichever game you’ve beaten least
on Xbox, PS, Nintendo Wii
Mister Right will crash through the living room wall,
wrangling a stallion or a Harley Davidson Bike,
depending on preference,
(which of course he’ll know)
Sweep you off the sofa,
and ride off into the unknown.
One frosty friday morning,
sometime in the wee hours when it’s still black,
the street’ll leap alive to serenade you,
muscle-bound men will bear you,
out of bed to a private jet;
fly you to foreign exotic countries,
filled with sun, sand and many martinis,
It’s your turn today,
to be lucky enough to go away.