Victoria Beckham's morning papers

A little note about this poem, which is a bit different from my normal style. On National Poetry Day, I went to the Lit and Phil, which is a very beautiful library in Newcastle, to attend a poetry workshop. It was the first time I'd ever been to this place, as I'd never had the time before and it was also the first time I'd been to a workshop. I was very excited but also very nervous, so I took my friend Jeanie, who's the most intelligent person I know and who is also in possession of a very large bullshit detector... I really enjoyed the workshop and got a lot out of it but at times it was like being in the middle of a Victoria Wood sketch. Our first task was to write the "morning papers" of someone well-known. I didn't know this but apparently many writers wake up and write down everything that's in their head, in a sort of stream of consciousness style. Then they pare it down and turn it into a piece of writing or a poem. So we had to think of someone and write their morning papers. It was like being back at school. I knew that the very intense young women sitting opposite me were going to think of very intellectual people, as were the two rather aloof poets running the thing, who were paying us no attention as we weren't "published". True to form, other people chose Sylvia, a minor character from Jane Eyre, the wife of Miles Davies...and the only person I could think of was VB. I read Closer magazine too much. We had to read out our efforts and the Sylvia Plath morning papers was so good the course leader burst into tears. Mine wasn't met with such intensity but the young lad opposite me was chuckling and one of the poets stopped texting long enough to say "You have given a voiceless celebrity a voice". Jeanie just went outside for a fag.

Wide awake at 6
Try to keep my face still, smiling causes wrinkles
Need an air of placid concentration
Reign in my desires, always some control
No pleasure gained in retaining feminine mystique.
Sheets covered in Crème de Mer
A large peach encased in Egyptian cotton:
David's buttocks.
Small smug smile. He's mine.
Try to keep my face still, smiling causes wrinkles
Pop lollipop head round nursery door
Baby adorable in grey cashmere
Blow kisses.
Remember crow's feet and lines around mouth
Try to keep my face still, smiling causes wrinkles
Want fry up, want fry up; have strong coffee instead, have strong coffee instead
Reign in my desires, always some control
Silk Cut on patio behind bush.
Think of my collection
Its rapturous reception in New York
So thrilled, elated, humbled even
But was the praise sincere?
Felt Karl was hiding something
But it may just have been the Botox.
Lack of expression can be misleading
And God only knows I've tried.
The dress looked awful on Eva
Her breasts are too big and she's horribly healthy
I want to look like a pre-pubescent girl
I do look like a pre-pubescent girl
Reign in my desires, always some control