Her eyes are robins, bustling and darting
They can stop a baby crying at fifty paces
Embarrass a handsome young man
At twice that distance
Her hands distorted lobster claws
From polishing up all her pride and joy
For so many years
Her handbag arms, so strong
In taking care of others
In taking charge of others
Her 1950s hair and posh ‘Toosdays’
In the right company
Turn into curlers and long-drawn ‘Ooooh!’s
The chink of spoon stirring cup
At home in her blue and gold
John Lewis splendour
Her heart broke when they made her
Step down from her high heels
She is outrageous draped curtains
Whiskey and gin, a clutter of objects
She is too much food
That wants to be eaten up
She is nosier than cats
Cheekier than squirrels
And pulling her skirt to just above the knee
To tell you her life stories
Softer than butter
Wrapped around a brick
And though the Pear’s soap
And the petal skin
Might fool you
She is a whirlwind
Confined to an armchair
A storm in a teapot
Always ready to pour me a cup
Thanks to the lovely Chris White for his workshop on metaphor where I began to write this poem. Please go and see Chris any time you get the chance, and don’t miss his amazing show Moist Moist Moist