A PMS Mess

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A café: old lady bumps
me. She’s the victim
of a salt pot battery.


This is a reverse senryu. Instead of the syllable count 5-7-5, there’s a count of 7-5-7. The wonderful thing about haiku is that there are so many versions of the form; it’s tiny but versatile…including the use of fiction, which I hasten to assure you this is!

This is one of the poems I chose not to include in my menopause collection, Hormoanal; but you can find plenty like it. Go here for two more examples.

Inspired by the Discovery of a Moustache Hair

I confess, the hair on my lip is not
so bad as the hair on my chest,
which leaves me quite distraught.

Then there’s the mammogram,
which some claim is the foulest invention
for women, by man.

Some women hate that man so hard they’d like to clutch
his nuts and test him in what should be named
the mammograbandcrushtobits.

I found it not too bad, because of my tiny breasts,
but I pity big girls who obey our NHS
diktat-by-post – I wouldn’t like their test.


Yes, it’s that time again.

Ladies, I urge you to get tested, uncomfortable/painful as it is.

Gentlemen, urge your ladies. Or ladies, urge your ladies.

I found the cartoon on an interesting post, complaining like me about this being a woman-only adventure; it’s well worth a read.


This poem is taken from my collection, Hormoanal, available from Matthew James Publishing.