Monday 13 July 2009

Crude Poems I

Leather chaps, cellulite,

Friday nite is stripper nite,

She calls herself Dyna Might,

And looks alright in a tinted light.

 

She straddles John,

In a Primark thong,

and gets her dirty groove thing on,

Nobody mentions the elastics gone,

And from where he’s sat there’s a bit of a pong.

 

With absent eyes and Marlboro breath,

She tries to shimmy him to death,

Her popped balloon bazooms batter his bald head –

Till we give her a fiver to fuck off instead.