Sarah Parry


An Ode To Izzy


 My heart goes out to Izzy,

The girl whose never grown up,

A bubblegum pink PC,

A dog disguised as a pup!

All day long she plays Space Raiders,

Blu tacked posters: no portraits,

Adulthood shall not raid her,

She foundations up her fate.


 The lads up the local brand

Her as mere matured mutton

The princess of all the land?

A self-confessed blonde glutton.

Izzy: a crown of blonde curls,

Drifting from temp job to job,

Wasting wages on posh pearls,

A trophy for all the yobs.


 Garments galoot and gyrate,

Upon her dance floor, dirt floor,

Her dizzy charm slightly grates,

Barbie wellies by the door.

Daytime chat shows educate,

She eats cookies for her meals,

Her face holds hues like the Tate,

Coating her face, age concealed.


 The sands of time wont devour,

She reads glossy mags not books,

Her skin shall never slant sour,

Imposing as a ripe rook.

A head full of fairy air,

Her daddy pays all her bills,

On her bed sits a Carebear,

She carelessly swallows pills.


 My heart goes out to Izzy,

In her surreal sweetheart shack,

Where the days make her dizzy,

Showing off all that she lacks.

Pondering what shade to paint nails,

Dieting to look like the stars,

One day the façade will fail,

Shell return from life on Mars.


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Sentinel Poetry (Online) #40


ISSN 1479-425X     March 2006