PINCH AN INCH (OR 2.54 CM) LXV

Decimalization makes maths easier
But it's deprived our mother tongue
Of many vivid expressions
That over time have sprung ...

From Imperial measurements -
Decimals and metres aren't the same;
Perhaps their soulless repetition
And unvarying terms are to blame.

"A miss is as good as a mile"
Has an apt and punchy appeal,
But as good as 0.6 km?
That's no literary big deal.

"Getting a quart into a pint pot"
Was another picturesque old phrase
That everyone appreciated
In our parents' days.

When young a 24" waist
Was our goal and ideal
But a 61 cm waist
Doesn't have the same appeal.

Men have always admired
Marilyn's 40" bust
But if it was merely one metre -
What would that do for male lust?

We can visualise yards, feet and inches
With accuracy - and ease.
We carry the standards with us
And can check them whenever we please.

Without decimal measures
Science would be left in the lurch,
But leave us our pounds, feet and inches -
Our mediaeval rod, pole and perch.


July 2000
To RB

ROBOT RUN RESIDENCE (LXIV

We have an automatic house
It runs on well oiled wheels
No one needs to clean it -
Or cook any meals.

Our dinners all prepare themselves -
Breakfast and lunch like-wise
Including all the vitamins
That food experts advise.

And after clothes have been worn
What do you think they do?
They leap back into the cupboard
Washed and dried - folded too.

Food appears on larder shelves -
No slow supermarket queue.
Library books renew themselves
Before they become overdue.

We have a bathroom robot
And that must be true,
For no one ever needs to clean
The basin, bath or loo.

We crawl out of bed in the morning
And sometime during the day
The counterpane creeps over the bed
And the wrinkles all go away.

As everything runs by itself
I have nothing to occupy my day
And have to resort to writing bad verse
To keep the boredom at bay.


Summer 1982

UNTIDYNESS IS A GIFT (Lxiii

One of the greatest gifts
With which I have been blessed
Is the ability to live with chaos
Without getting stressed.

Some friends have Ideal Homes
That I greatly admire,
But to that level of perfection
I know |I could never aspire.

There are women who cannot relax
If a single cushion is unplumped,
But I can sit in a clutter of books,
Restful and comfortably slumped.

I knit or sew as I watch TV
And when I can't stop yawning
I go to bed and leave the debris
To clear up in the morning.

Unlike a lady who tidied up
Before she went to bed
In case they had a burglary -
That's what her husband said.

My garden is a natural one -
It is not tidy I fear
But something is in flower
Every day of the year.

To strive for perfection is admirable
But there can be a high cost,
Stress - worry - anxiety -
And I'm glad I lost.

January 2008

EMAILS AND ATTACHMENTS (LXII)

The computer age has spawned
A brand new industry -
Writing and forwarding enmails -
And it's all completely free.

Some contain advice and warnings
About lipstick and Aspartame
Some say I'll get Alzheimers
If |I do not use my brain.

There are warnings about frauds and scams
A new one every day
And how to tell a genuine mirror
From one that is two-way.

Apart from the authors
Of inaccurate and alarmist prose
There are millions of workers
That no one every knows.

The army of volunteers
Log on every day
Reverentially down-load the junk
And send it on its way.

There are a limited number of write-ups
Both profound and inane
And with so many forwarders
They circle again - and again.

Once an email has been sent
It can journey without pause or rest
Circling the electronic oceans -
A modern day Marie Celeste.

March 2007