I know not a dowdy
And never will know any
Because none exists where I live
Where I work
And where I go
But if you know a dowdy
Or have seen any
Be rest assured that the grease
Clinging onto that polished marble
Is yet mopable
Being just a fickle stain
That can’t retire a great fabric prematurely
Stunning transformations have I witnessed
On beauties hastily tagged dowdies
By undiscerning infantile minds
Therefore, mark every seeming ugliness
That stares you in the face now
For it is a colossal coward
That melts quicker than butter
Grasping a frying pan
In a biting winter
When placed over a blazing gas burner
It also evaporates as a handful of water
Poured into a thirsty kettle
Placed atop a fiery stove
Whenever disposable cash steps in
To clean up
A queen muddled up
By the dehumanising hands of lack.
(c) Chris Jibero.
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