The Dubious Privilege of Survival
It’s a bit late for all this pioneer stuff
I feel like a gay Buzz Aldridge
taking geisha steps on the moon
not knowing whether it will bear my weight
or is it just a gaseous concoction
of Chanel No. 5 and ground pomegranite seeds
a Marco-Pierre White confabulation
of shards of Bombay duck
and umibushi Japanese plum sauce
unfit to sustain the weight
of my high-heeled space boots.
Does lipstick decompose at supersonic speeds?
Shall I risk the Schiaparelli pink?
or stick with Mars red?
or invent Venus vermilion?
Since most of the gaga buggers here
have forgotten what
knives and forks are there for
and think that jokes about genitals at table are
that curry powder is unspeakably expensive
and that Lamborghini will lend you
a crate for a test drive on the Ku’damm
Cartier do a nice line in incontinence pads,
that Jean-Paul Gauthier makes saucepans
And Halfords do bras
Remembering the days when Sainsbury’s
was just a white-tiled cheese shop
will not score you too many plus points
when knockin at heaven’s door.
or begging for Martin Amis’s
terminal martini cocktail