Writing from the stemistry lab
My clone has turned out to be a worky-ticket
by Catherine Graham
I didn't read the small print; I've only myself to blame.
In my defence
I am a novice, a newcomer to the cloning game.
They asked me, would I be willing to help produce another me.
I've always been lacking in confidence, rather shy
and so you see, I jumped at the chance
to have someone stand in for little introvert me. But friend,
I never dreamed they'd go gung-ho and make her so feisty,
you know what I mean? You'll get the picture
when I tell you I think they overdosed on the attitude gene. Still
in some ways I admire her; she wears bright colours that clash:
She's not old but she already wears purple; she's not young
but she cuts quite a dash on the dance-floor, in Doc Martens and baseball cap.
She takes no shit from co-workers; the boss always says Good morning, first.
She demands cash refunds from Fenwicks and is always reimbursed.
I'm guessing some whitecoat miscalculated or upturned the researcher's dish
when they set up this nuclear replacement and got a different kettle of fish.
But she's me and I love her like a sister: she's the clone I cannot live without.
She specialises in being assertive and has no notion of self-doubt.
You never see us together;
you'd be hard-pushed to tell us apart - except
I'm the one who says sorry when people bump into me,
and she says: Watch where you're walking pal!
and I'll accept your apology!
At first, I guess I was gobsmacked, but she's really grown on me: weird
how I can make that statement and mean it, literally.
Footnote: Worky-ticket - Northeast England expression for a mischevious person, a trouble-maker.