God, You Give Out Gifts
God, you give out gifts. You gave to myself
reasonable looks and very good health.
As a bonus you gave me a poetry brain.
Not something I’d necessarily want again
It’s not that I’m ungrateful or it’s not enough,
but you can’t pay a mortgage with sonnets and stuff.
Why didn’t you give me a voice like Lisa Minnelli
or the chance to interview stars
just like Lorraine Kelly.
A pianist’s hands for a perfect sonata
A sainthood, a prelude to martyr-
dom. (see what I did there!)
I could have been a scientist,
inventing a ‘doanything’ machine,
discovering the cure for acne and back-aching.
If I’d had a head for finance
I could have broken-stock in the city,
worked my way on to an Economics Committee,
lived in or near Canary Wharf,
wore a nice suit, drove a Porsche.
If only I’d been in the right place at the right time
I could have been a reality show diva,
cracked jokes about beavers and met Davina.
You blanked me with the astronaut suit, too,
but I’ll not make a fuss.
I like my space, but not that much.
So many livings I could have made
with a bit of luck and higher grades.
Unravelling peoples’ minds with psychology,
dissecting frogs and rats in biology,
discovering new planets with astrology,
So many ologies. I’m not looking for apologies.
It’s not that I’m grumbling, Lord.
I’m grateful for small mercies.
Some people get shingles
and some, God bless ‘em, herpes.
You gave me a poetry brain.
I don’t want to be a carper,
but, Lord, could you not have made it
just a bit sharper?