I don’t like this new word cachexic
It has more than a hint of the toxic
Yet is Greek
So we must speak
And practise until we all rock ,chick.
I am the opposite of what I once was
I think I’ve been washed in some Daz.
I’m so pale I’m translucent
But not yet indecent.
I’m grateful for all that me has.
Cachelocks are a new type of safe.
You put your laptop in a brace.
Then you swear and you curse
And rattle a hearse.
I suggest then to hide that red face
Cachelicks are followers of God
Who forgot how to spell, as they trod
Grapes and wild cherries
And other black berries.
And for them it was a sin to say,Sod.
Catlicks was a term of abuse
To us children who walked from our house.
It was Belfast in miniature…
No bagpipes in the furniture.
I sometimes felt like a black louse.
For I had a friend who was Other.
They were Methodists from near the river.
So I had to hide my religion
From even their pigeon.
I felt all the time in a state or a dither.
For I did not know what would deceive
Indeed not even what would please.
So I went stiff all over
I shrank into the sofa.
And my Lord was I happy to leave!
I suppose now I’d not give a toss.
Ignoring me was their loss.
I am both blonde and wise
And have two blue eyes.
Though my face can go red when I’m cross.
My skin is too thin ,so I’m told
And my nerves are much larger and bold.
So I feel everything double
When there is real trouble.
Indeed it need only be cold