The poet clearly objects to the commercialisation that cheapens love. This light-hearted poem by Liz Lochhead presents a cynical view of Valentine’s day and the worthless gifts on sale that gullible people buy.
If you sent me a solitaire and promises solemn, Took out an ad in the Guardian Personal Column Saying something very soppy such as ‘Who Loves Ya, Poo? I’ll tell you, I do, Fozzy bear, that’s who!’ You’d entirely fail to charm me, in fact I’d detest it I wouldn’t be eighteen again for anything, I’m glad I’m past it. Scrawl SWALK across the envelope I’d just say ‘ Same Auld story I canny be bothered deciphering it – I’m up to hear with Amore! The whole Valentine’s Day Thing is trivial and commercial, A cue for unleashing clichés and candyheart motifs to which I personally am not partial.’ Take more than singing Telegrams, or pints of Chanel Five, or sweets, To get me ordering oysters or ironing my black satin sheets. Two dozen anonymous Interflora red roses? I’d not bother to swither over who sent them! I wouldn’t thank you for a Valentine. Should 10 red-padded satin hearts arrive with sticky sickly saccharine Sentiments in very vulgar verses I wouldn’t wonder if you meant them.
I won’t wake up early wondering if the postman’s been.
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