Some days boobs are a nuisance.
Like in the winter when bras are cold.
Or when you think you’re in and minutes later you’re half out.
Or those times in bed when they become squashed.
Or when they jiggle when you run, dance, skip. Move.
Some days boobs are a godsend,
when I have no pockets
and want music
they are my
neatly nestled beside lace
and milk white skin
the perfect place to keep my phone in.
Karen Hayward ©2016