Goddess Of The Menopause


Oh Goddess of the menopause, I come to you today, 

Self-basting in hot flashes, as I waddle on this way.

I have a burning question from the yearning deep within,

Are you some kind of psychopath or a joker with a grin?


For you must have a shadow side oh bringer of the light,

For who could think up deep fatigue twinned with the sleepless night?

Or how about the weight gain, though we eat less and less,

Where squeezing into last weeks jeans becomes a huge success.


And memory, Oh! memory, the creator of memoir,

Why dost thou desert me as I look for the fucking car

that I parked here  one hour ago, right outside this shop,

and why do I hold in my hands a big red lollipop?


And what kind of evil sicko must the creator be?

who designs the female body and the bitch called gravity,

Where once we had two firm round breasts, majestic as the stars,

We now spend countless minutes wrestling them into bigger bras.


And whilst I’m here to speak to you, designer of all things,

Did you split your sides in laughing as you thought of oestrogen?

For it has left the building, and now sex is no picnic,

it’s like trying to thread a needle with a sausage made of brick.


And can we talk oh Goddess dear of the wildest ride of all?

the way that we can go from peace to a madly raging bull

all in the time it takes to blink, and even I am shocked,

that I imagine all my loved ones bound within the village stocks,


and I’m pelting them with rotten fruit with a satisfying grin,

and I think up forms of torture with my box of sewing pins.

I love you dearest Goddess, but the menopause is crap,

you really messed up this one, were you high on coke or crack?


Well I must leave this yearning, I have many things to do,

But before I leave, there is one thing  I ask of you,

Many more will come this way and I ask you to be kind,

to my sisters who must journey to this thing that is assigned.


Thank you dearest Goddess for listening to my prayer,

I bow to you and run a hand through my grey and thinning hair. 

And now I’m off to follow my own shining bright north star,

Just as soon as I  remember where I left the fucking car.