Gel

Beware the shower gel from hell,
That spies you in the supermarket
Between shaving cream and cellophane,
Invites your finger tips to touch,
But warns you not to drink
Because you'll snuff it,
Glares a lurid green exotic name,
Boasts a herbal remedy - how you'll love it!

Try the range,
Test each colour;
Mix them in the bath and
Soak your brain in Ancient Eastern Cures;
Cares and woes drip away.
Through the door you wade,
Invigorated,
Difficulties castigated,
Tingling a new sheen,
Something more than clean.

The benefits subside.
Daily tasks attack,
Fry your head
And spin it once more
On the rack.
It's getting worse,
The shower gel's a curse.
The tingling's all I know - it's the drug
That keeps my words in flow.
I can't say no!
Three times, four times,
Five a day, I scrub my skin;
I'm all done in.
I'm a shower junkie.











The poet scrubs himself in the shower
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Poem Study Notes:


This poem was written in around 1998, at a time when lurid shower gels, boasting natural sources, were still new enough in the shops to be considered a perfectly decent christmas present for family and friends.

This poem may appear to have some satirical or critical content, but in fact it was little more than a poem about how much the poet liked Original Mint Source Shower Gel, the first of these gels on the shopping scene in the UK, and which graced the poet's family's christmas stockings throughout the nineties.

Since this poem was written in the fairly early days of the internet, it was no surprise that its original title of 'Original Mint Source Shower Gel' took it to the first page of the rankings, thus prompting a call from the marketing department of the manufacturer who, having read the poem a few times, were still unsure whether it constituted praise or abuse. The poet insisted that he loved their product and free samples were duly dispatched. There was not even a request to change the name of the poem, but the poet did anyway (in the hope of receiving more samples, for which he is still waiting).

So this poem really is a simple paean to the gel, but due to the poet's inability to focus on one theme, it did kind of morph into something vaguely moaning about the daily office grind and also hinting at drug abuse.