| I HAVE written the following poem titled Choice Cuts:—
According to the Holy books,
God made us in his shape and looks.
But aren’t we a thankless lot,
Dissatisfied with what we’ve got.
If we feel our looks are just a mess,
We can ignore the NHS.
As going private is now the norm,
To plastic surgeons who change our form.
By working hard in busy clinics,
To alter looks of jaded cynics.
Dressed in masks and gloves and gowns,
To please the swingers of our towns.
Roman noses cut to size,
Drooping bags removed from the eyes.
Bosoms altered, larger, fatter,
Or in some cases smaller, flatter.
A nip in here, a tuck in there,
Liposuction everywhere.
Bottoms rounded with implants,
To look more curvy under pants.
And as well as firming sagging hips,
There’s jabs to produce pouting lips.
All transformations bought galore,
By hordes of patients shouting “more”.
But when their time on Earth is o’er,
And they await their fate at Heaven’s door,
Will He, mid angel retinue,
Say, “I don’t remember making you!” — Ron Irvine, Fintry Road, Dundee.
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