Beauty Therapy

Above image: Hyde Park apartments, Sheffield, courtesy of Aperture Portraits of Sheffield.

Beauty Therapy

In a Hyde Park apartment lives young Omar
Whose life has been totally-shit, so far
No jobs, no future back in home-town Luton,
He smokes raw skunk on a Habitat futon

It’s to destruction, he has turned his talents
His mental chemistry, somewhat unbalanced
Joined a religious sect to ‘liberate’ his thinking
Deciding it better than more heavy drinking

In the flat above lives beautiful Mandy
A gorgeous, manicured bit of eye candy
She’s a beauty therapist with skin like silk
And, she just happens to have run out of milk

Omar’s front door is reinforced to the hilt
On account of the cheap way these flats were built
But in his cannabinoid induced torpor
He’s sort-of ‘whatever, man’, left it wide open

Mandy knocks once, but Omar’s mind is elsewhere
So she walks straight in, and is greeted with a stare
Omar, once thinking of incendiary devices
Is now full of lust, and other manly vices

But Mandy notices his complexion is poor
He’s been eating that takeaway crap from next-door
So close to that suicide, he’s been living on garbage
Whilst he consults his maps, and plans his carnage

“Your skin looks unhealthy, you need Vit-D3”
She said, then added: “Oh…….and my names Mandy”
(thinks): If only she knew….. you don’t really care
When you’re three-days away from bombing Sloane Square

But her eyes are amazing, and her perfume so sweet
So he invites her to sit on the smelly old suite
She asked: “What do you use to exfoliate?”
…………….”you know…………before you go on a date?”

“Is it a facial scrub, or a chemical-peel?”
And Omar thinks…………………. is this girl for real?
But the word ‘chemical’ jolts him into life
And he looks to the corner, at the sharp Bowie knife

She’s too pretty to kill, she’s gorgeous top-to-toe
More ‘dense’ than ‘intense’, so I might just give-it-a-go
She doesn’t even realise what I’m trying to plot
I could just talk to her, like girlfriends long-forgot

Mandy sees chemicals on the kitchen table,
Glances at his hands, concludes he’s barely able
“And those burns you have from mixing those bleaches
Wouldn’t happen if you observed our salon procedures”

He hears himself ask: “Drink tomorrow night?”
And though he looks a bit rough, she thinks: I just-might
“OK” she replies, “call for me at eight”
He stumbles to his feet to say: “It’s a date!”

And when she’s taken that milk back to base
Omar has time to decide on his fate
He surveys his assorted weapons of hate
And thinks……………
…..hmmm……….maybe Sloane Square can wait.

Copyright Jody Redmires, 2015