I write this in the cause of science;
Be utterly aware of that.
I myself am far above
Caring about thin and fat.
I live on a very much higher plane,
Where body-size doesn't matter;
Normally I don't notice
Who's thin and who is fatter.
But cave-women came into my mind
By chance the other day.
(My mind moves in mysterious ways
And this was a mysterious way!)
'When people went completely nude
Living in caves and such,
Letting everything hang out,
Did figures matter much?
Did women from the dawn of time
Look extremely glum,
Saying to their dearest friend
"Have I got a big bum?"
Did they criticise each other,
Saying "Look at Elsie's neck!
How can Ernie tolerate
Living with such a wreck?"
They hadn't a hope of hiding flaws
When they were in the nude
But did they go on diets
And eat less mammoth food?
Or were they all oblivious
To the vagiaries of size,
Never thinking of comparing
Rita's with Elvira's thighs?
All the cave-paintings I've seen
Showed people middle-sized;
Maybe no-one noticed
Maybe no-one criticised.
How refreshing it must have been
When we weren't all fashion's slaves!
Flaunting all our wobbly bits!
Let's head back to the caves!
Denouement! What a lovely word!
One of the loveliest I've heard!
Reminding me of Agatha Christie,
She of the plots so turny-twisty.
She always ties up her loose ends
With a gathering of foes and friends,
Standing around in some vast hall
With beans. (And ready to spill them all!)
Cook and gardener, a high-born lady,
Secretary (a trifle shady),
Ancient crone, with quite a history,
'Mr X' (now he's a mystery!)
Mr Plod (a neat disguise),
A judge, retired, looking very wise,
A criminal type, all smoothy-smarty,
(Be sure he wont be the guilty party!)
Two sweet young things for decoration
And one very sinister relation!
They stand in groups, neatly separated,
All with their breath very clearly bated,
All of them looking rather queasy,
With the innocent clearly the most uneasy.
They all arrived, at once, on queue
Which isn't what normal people do!
See, in real life, this neat display
All ready to give the game away,
Would be really hell to organise,
Quite impossible, I surmise.
'Where's Julia?' .'She's in the loo.'
'Shouldn't Rupert be in here, too?'
'I've a call to make; please wait a tick."
'This is an awkward time to pick!'
'Lord Pentarthur left at dawn!'
'Oh! (this one's posh) 'He's already gawn!'
'Make it snappy! I've got to go!'
'God! You policemen are so slow!'
Where's Lorraine? Oh dear! She's departed!'
'Get on with it! It's time we started!'
Agatha, in the books we read,
Never paid even the slightest heed
To the awful logisitics of real life!
Who cares if the Doctor killed the wife!
So long as denouements work a treat
And the criminal type admits defeat,
We can close the book or end the play
Wishing real-life worked-out her way!