Self-Obsession Poem by Victoria Hughes

To my good friend who only ever talks about herself.

When life is almost perfect
And you feel balanced
Like a pair of scales
Holding equal weights
You feel a sudden sense of guilt,

Guilt for having it so good
When plenty of people
Are struggling merely to survive
And get their crops to thrive,
You would help, if you could.

You look at the devastation around the world
And instead of thanking your lucky stars
You fret and moan
About missing that reservation through reading
'Men are from Mars...'

You moan about petty things
You're never happy with what you've got
Always wanting more and being totally ungrateful
Because he got you
'the wrong earings'

For your birthday three months ago.
Holding grudges and wasting your cash
on things you don't need
And passing fads that time will change.

You whinge about the public transport system
that you never use,
and the National Health Service
that gives everyone the blues,
Not enough cleaners, or doctors

But plenty of managers to feed you false hope,
And then offer a tidy settlement when
your loved one dies through negligence.

You can't see past the end of your nose
It's all about you,
always you,
You steal the show.

(C) Victoria Elizabeth Hughes September 2005