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Poem
When she meets you for the first time she should hand you a card, 
Laminated, that tells you her name and what she does... 
Not a business card you understand, but a warning and an apology 
Kind of like an I’m Sorry Hallmark card, but with darker undertones 
And a tragically funny kind of sub-text 
This card would tell you all you needed to know, 
And hopefully you would take one glance, look at her, 
Swallow a lump of nerves and hurriedly back track 
I don’t know what the exact wording on that card would be, 
But somewhere on it there should be a concise and detailed list 
A rundown of all her mental illnesses, all the neuroses 
And psychoses and general deformities of character she possesses 
Oh and of course they should include the inherent alcoholism too 
And the fact that she may in fact, at some point, 
Need an exorcism 
She seems to have Satan squatting inside her skull you see 
Anyway...after you’ve read the card, if you don’t run away, 
But instead find yourself glancing nervously into her haunting eyes – 
The colour of the sea on a sunny day – and if you find yourself off-balance 
And falling head-first into those cerulean pits, 
Find the word Love bobbing around in your misguided heart like a cork, 
And if you decide you want her despite what the little card said – 
Despite the translucent triple six on her forehead, 
Then at least when it all comes crashing down, and she turns monstrous 
And devours you for breakfast like a petite but ravening harpy, 
Then don’t burst into petulant tears and say “It’s so unfair...” 
Because you were warned right from the start, 
With that amusing little card and it’s damning words in bold black ink 
It was your own stupid fault if you ignored that foreboding label –
Certified Psychopath - just because she had a pair of pretty eyes 
And she was willing to spend all afternoon kissing you into a stupor 
And smoking opiate dreams from a psychedelic pipe 
After all, you were only too ready to rush into her ravishment  
And you can’t blame the black widow for devouring the fly 
That wriggling fool that blundered right into her silken threads 
Especially not when she gave you that card...
Laminated and all, with its intriguing list...
A neat little warning; what a shame it ended up in the bin...
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