She lived in a neat world:
Hair just right, jewelry just so,
Clothes freshly washed, shoes unscuffed,
Underwear clean.
Each morning she had a shower -
Each evening a bath.
Her house had smart furniture,
The carpet was immaculate,
The garden tidy -
A spotless, self-disciplined little world.
Her friends were respectable,
And she thought clean, neat thoughts
She’d inherited from her parents
Like the pot-plants.
There was no room for doubt -
Just crystal-clear certainty
Delivered in a crisp, thin-lipped voice
As she looked down her nose.
No room for immigrants,
God was a Christian,
Change was unwelcome
And women had a very clear role.
It was O.K to fiddle the taxes,
The law was always right,
Children were lovely (when your own),
Life was as it should be
And she held a respectable position within that life.
One day, however,someone pushed her against a wall
And a well of rage beat up within her clear, neat boundaries:
Try as she might, pushing it all back in,
She’d unleashed a demon
That her friends noticed straight away.
Between them they forced it down again,
Channelling their hate into whatever was close to hand -
This race, that country, those neighbours -
And helped her paint her thin, respectable smile back on once more.
It was their little secret -
A ripple in a pool that didn’t want to be disturbed.
Perhaps there’s not so many of them around nowadays, who knows?
