Thursday, 23 May 2013

Girls of Slender Legs


Driving home through the shoals of
long-legged foals took me back to
less puritanical times, to
Liverpool in the 70’s when
“schoolies” were fair game, with their
skirts rolled up, their
satchels and sarcasm, their
white socks and dark hearts, so
ready to be led astray they
often gave you a roadmap,
driving you on with their
slender legs around your waist, their
school-shod heels urging more,
deeper, faster, longer, in the
language of Chaucer with a
Scouse accent.

Tuesday, 14 May 2013

Pleistocene


We expect your throat to be capacious but
choke on our toothbrushes: expect
contortions when our
bones creak; expect a
waxed vagina to host a
hirsute pubis.

We wrap up warmly yet still
expect you en d├ęshabille, or
dressed like sluts to complement our
designer suits, our jewels snug in
comfy boxers whilst your waist is
cinched to wincing in that corset we
thoughtfully bought you.

You must of course be sweet smelling and
spotlessly clean, both
inside and out, while we
muss your hair when we
pull your immaculate face into our
misguided idea of hygiene.

So why, after all these millennia, haven’t you
changed us? Don’t tell me that
somewhere beneath that
civilised veneer, there is a
secret hankering for a
caveman?


Monday, 6 May 2013

Suit


There are stains on my suit,
about the fly, where you
rubbed your desire and for which
you will be punished.

But the suit will be cleaned
so that it might be
soiled again by your
wet splendour.