Matchmakers Work Their Tails Off
Her toenails had spikes that could stop a train
Her fingers were claws that could dig through a drain
Her teeth were jagged, her breath was ragged.
There was no doubt we would have our work cut out.
Her dad left instructions loud and clear.
To reform and re-create his daughter dear.
We knew she would take time to get ready
For a man, a potential suiter, and maybe a steady.
We washed her hair seven times before we had suds.
We made her face mask out of St Lucria’s holiday muds.
We brushed those blackened teeth, and her sour tongue.
Our reputation as matchmakers by a thin thread clearly hung.
You said you could do it, my husband reminded me.
We thought we would be finished by nine, it was a quarter ‘til three.
Who will we find? Will it be an old geezer?
We picked off the roaches, and threw away the tweezer.
What about old man McGoogly? His eyesight is bad.
He has a mail-order bride. She arrived yesterday from Chad.
When we were finished we made a little list, trying hard.
But we did not have to bother for here came Jimmy McBard.
He did not recognize her a bit; he was struck with her now.
He began to date her. At her engagement he got a cow.
Her dowry was plentiful, her hair was smooth a comb.
They lived happily ever after, with her Dad, in his home.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2019
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