Poet on a Hill

Saturday, 2 January 2010

Wpl

Chain of Thought

While I was incinerating my guts with this screaming vindaloo I thought, ‘I’ve never seen a white waitress in an Indian restaurant.’

Then I thought, ‘I’ve never seen a black, brown or mottled one either.’

Then I thought, ‘Maybe Indians don’t employ waitresses.’

Then I thought, ‘I’ve never seen a lady bus driver in a burqa.’

Then I thought, ‘I’ve never seen one in a niqab, either.’

Then I thought, ‘Maybe bus companies don’t employ shrouded ladies.’

Then I thought, ‘It’s high time we moved Positive Discrimination up a notch; spice life up a bit; multi coloured waitresses in Indian restaurants and lady bus drivers in drapes and masks.’

Then I took a swig of ice cold Kingfisher and watched steam drifting up to the ceiling.

Wpl

Friday, 1 January 2010

Wpl

Depends Which Side of the Trumpet You’re On …

I woke up in the morning with my ears full of wax.
I couldn’t hear. I was deaf. I usually only feel this miserable on birthdays.

I went to the surgery but missed my turn because I didn’t hear the doctor call my name.

Eventually I got to see her. ‘I’m deaf,’ I told her.

She looked in my head. ‘It’s wax,’ she diagnosed, thrusting her face into mine and using exaggerated mouth movements, not sure if I was deaf … or daft.

‘You’re having me on,’ I told her.

‘No. It’s definitely wax,’ she’s on top of this one. ‘But don’t worry, wax is a sign of good health.’ Her lips stretch to the limit, like a fat girl’s garter, ‘so you’re very lucky, really.’

My hand makes an ear trumpet. ‘Eh …?! What …?!’

Wpl