Blind Date

[Dylan di Vilde]

When we meet tomorrow afternoon
under the station clock,
you will recognise me by my distinctive Come-to-bed eyes,
my Get-a-load-of-this-baby nose,
my Right-you–Knickers-off-now mouth,
my Hey-pretty-lady-you-wan’-jig-a-jig? moustache,
and my Why-Contessa–you-appear-to-be-wearing-nothing-but-my-finest-cologne earlobes.
And, just in case, the crimson carnation pinned to my anorak.

[Dave]

I have read this numerous times in the hope that the poem is a form of satire about the shit that goes on in men's heads and hypocitical shit at that but I can't escape the idea that the contrast between the carnation and the misogynist thoughts is to be regarded humourously. The N is a man to avoid at all costs.

However, I may be missing the intention behind the piece, in which case apologies.

Dave

[Colm Roe]

Not sure about the 'earlobe' line?
The loaded clichés and language (especially meeting under a clock) directs me to the past. I'd hope that young men have evolved from this dinosaur. The last line (anorak) finishes it perfectly, and confirms his status as a plonker.
It's funny and sad and the title is perfect...she'd have to be blind