DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE WAX

Worship at the altar of a lemon scented universe 
And deny the existence of your Cesarian section.

Mom's antennae can't sense the pathetic scowl of my former peers, 
Let them languish in robust anonymity.

Oh dear,  can't you rise 
above the clay mated expressions of your Aunt Hilda,
and experience the wilder side of my meteoric rise?

Shove the phone a little deeper, into your ear 
AND DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE WAX!

{POETRY}