FINER FRIDAY
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BUBBLEGUM
I've never chewed on bubblegum;
I've never had the pleasure
Of blowing a big sticky ball
Almost too large to measure.
I've never tasted the colour pink,
Or learned the art of blowing;
I've never seen the bubble grow
Filled with air to overflowing.
I've never felt the bubble burst
All flatly on my face.
I've never peeled the remnants off,
Every elongated trace.
*
But I have worn a gas-mask;
That was my childhood thrill,
And I remember it clearly; I think I always will.
Childhood is a joyful time
Whatever the circumstance
And my childhood was a wartime one,
By pure historical chance.
And I remember the air-raid shelters,
Where children sat in rows,
Each child with a gas-mask
Covering it's nose.
We made such glorious noises,
Lavatory noises really,
Blowing bubbles at each other.
I still hear us clearly!
Now young people blow their bubbles
Of a peaceful sort of pink;
In my childhood I did the same.
I'm glad there is a link.
*
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THE PINK ROSE
Oh! How pinkly pretty!
How miraculously pure!
Not a blemish! Not a freckle!
A work of art for sure.
Was she really that uncrumpled?
That uncreased? That fresh and bright?
Was the day a little cloudy
Yet she was bathed in light?
The young girls of that era
Must have gazed at this in awe
Thinking her the ultimate;
The best they ever saw!
And did they suffer heartache
Because their skins were beige
With here and there the evidence
Of swiftly-advancing age?
Today we talk of models
Who're almost skin and bone,
And we worry that our young girls
May compare and weep alone.
But surely in the old days
Comparisons were made
And 'teenagers' were haunted
By that dire phrase 'an old maid'!
This pinkly perfect poppet
Has been air-brushed, in a way.
The artist's brush transformed her
And that is how she'll stay.
She's the pinnacle of perfection
Of another earlier age,
Designed to send her sisters
into a jealous rage!
*
