Brand New Me

I’m currently in the process of collating all of my poetry, short stories and general musings, with the intent of publishing a book. It’s proving to be a time-consuming process, because some things exist only online, some in the myriad of journals that I have a penchant for buying on an all-too regular basis, and then also spread across digital archives, that have been moved from computer to computer, over the last 30 years or so.

One thing that I’ve learned is that straight text or html files are really the best way to store documents, as many early Word docs are proving challenging to open up with the latest Mac version of the software. Fortunately, because I am such a digital packrat, I’ve so far been able to find versions in alternative formats.

As I read this one, John Cooper Clarke kindly took on narration duties, with his Salfordian tones and drones playing inside my head. I’ve long been a fan of the Salford Bard, ever since seeing him opening for Be Bop Deluxe in 1978. It was quite a surreal experience, as he sauntered on stage with a plastic carrier bag full of his poems. The audience really didn’t know what had hit them. Interestingly, around that same time, he also opened for The Sex Pistols, Joy Division and The Fall.

Anyway, re-reading this put a smile on my face, and so I thought I’d share it on here!

Brand New Me

I’m trying to be Tarzan
Yet I’m looking more like Jane
I need a dose of mega-protein powder
With guaranteed muscle gain
Just wait and see the pecs on me
Biceps, triceps and quads
You’ll wonder at my gluteus maximus
And marvel at the state of my bod

Yes, I’m sending for the kit right now
I’m filling out the form
I’m requesting express delivery
I’m fed up of being the norm
I want to be a pin-up boy
All angles, curves and tone
To be harassed by all of womankind
Who just won’t leave me alone

As if all clocks are slowing down
The days go by so slow
Daily, I pester the mailman
And each day he says “no”
Until the day arrives at last
When he finally answers “yes”
Excitedly, I sign and take the box
Clutching it to my chest

Urgently, I rush inside
And strip it of its cover
I break the seal and look inside
And there I find… another
Another box that lies within
And within that yet another
And within that box there is one more
And another and another… and another

This pattern continues on and on
The boxes getting smaller and smaller
Sweat breaks out upon my brow
And the debris grows ever taller
My muscles hurt, my fingers throb
My eyes begin to ache
Until at last I reach the end
And fear for a mistake

Reaching in, I pick it up
The final box so small
It seems so insignificant
It’s hardly there at all
Could it really be that in this box
Is all that there should be?
Where are the jars and packs and cans
That promised a “brand new me?”

Fearing the worst, while hoping for the best
I pause and take a rest
Then pop the lid and look inside
And find their little jest
A note which says “No need for pills
Powders, potions, or pastes
By completing the Unwrapathon(R)
You’ve burned two inches from your waist”

Examining the note a little closer
Fingers fumbling and through straining eyes
I turn the whole thing over
Finding a postscript on the other side
“P.S. If you think I’m joking
That the Unwrapathon(R) is a one-shot affair
Just take a long look around you
You’ve still got all that rubbish to clear!”

© Robert Ford 1999