The Trials and Tribulations of Being a Hobbit Magnet
The kind of men who usually line up to date me,
look like something that crawled out of the shire,
As far as Middle Earth goes, there’s actually plenty,
of men in the Fellowship I’d happily admire.
I’d give up on poetry and follow them to Mordor,
but those aren’t the sort that come knocking on my door.
No those aren’t the sort that climb down my chimney,
I get ginger-beards with pot-bellies that remind me of Gimli.
It gets awkward when they ask for a date,
because they remind me of this hobbit I hate…
Who took ‘Hell No’ to mean ‘Hell Yes’, because his hearing was damaged,
and he thought it was fate, because we’re both vertically challenged.
See short men think my height is an open-invitation,
I’ll map the hairs on their feet and end their frustration.
They sometimes salivate in the front row,
because perhaps they’re sleeping or hoping to grow…
Or they just don’t have girls on their side of the Shire,
so now I’m on stage they think I’m for hire.
And hobbits are resilient, they don’t understand never,
they think it’s my way of being witty and clever.
So there’s no point in telling a hobbit no,
they’ve a tendency to never let these things go…
But they’re not as bad as the guy that looks like Gollum,
who looked in my eyes all regal and solemn,
and told me not to worry because he’s broken too,
and I walked away because that’s nothing new.
Then there’s the men that try to act mysterious,
going hot and cold to get me delirious…
I guess in their heads they are channelling Aragorn,
but that ship has sailed and those shoes are worn.
The worst is a guy that reminds me of Gandalf,
one of those drama-kings that don’t do anything by half.
He read me his poems by the light of the moon,
with what I assume was dementia, thinking I’d swoon.
I wanted to tell him he was as old as my granddad,
but I’m not the kind of girl that makes geriatrics feel bad.
My problem isn’t that they’re short, bald, dying or fat,
it’s that I’m on stage to be listened to, not looked at.
Alvy will be performing Trials and Tribulations’ and other works at the Electric Picnic.
Fully illustrated version of the poem here.