BATHTIME BLUES

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Poetry, Uncategorized

BATHTIME BLUES

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Poetry, Uncategorized

MY FRIDAY NIGHT

my friday night

7pm:

Although I look old and past it, right,

I still look forward to Friday night,

and trying to recreate the magic

(at my age, some would say it’s tragic)

of when a boy would try to kiss me,

left me feeling like a princess, see?

 

In my time I been called a slag,

my skirts are short, I dance round my bag,

inside there’s a couple of Durex Play

(best be prepared, if I get my way!),

my purse with this week’s benefit,

a Smirnoff mini, just for the hellavit,

 

and half a pack of Marlboro lights.

My legs are bare, I don’t need tights,

dimpled thighs will look OK

under a layer of San-Tro-Pay.

Badly bleached and sort-of grey

Hair held firm with cans of spray.

 

To my Nan I made an oath,

to show some leg or tit, not both,

Nor to date with more than one gusset,

remember my brains are my finest asset,

and classy girls, not too chav,

always ask for French Cab Sav.

 

Brains are good, but I’m afraid,

they don’t help you to get laid.

Made-up to trade-up –

Chucked-up then fucked-up –

this attention-seeking whore

will strut her stuff about the floor

 

11.30pm:

Off comes the nylon lon-jer-ray,

discarded, ripped, it’s had its day –

legs akimbo, what a sight,

the sickly orange urban light

makes her thinning hair seem blonder.

On the back seat of his Honda

 

the grunting of the spotty lad

makes her feel a little sad.

Granny wouldn’t like her style –

to be wanted for a while –

it’s not like asking for a lot –

anyway, it’s all I’ve got.

 

Later on, I’ll feel alright.

My boozy, floozy Friday night.

Standard

Imagine a future mapped by throw of dice.
Impending crossroads: which way should she choose?
No lesser evil, neither option nice.
So much to gain, but scared of what’s to lose.

Just hesitate and through the cracks she’ll fall,
For in this limbo lies a damaged soul;
And quixotic thoughts achieve no end at all,
But hurtful indecision takes its toll.

Ricochet from head to heart the conflict goes,
Two scales locked in balance battle so
That parity cancels out its foe.
The weights are placed: which way will they go?

With augury’s sixth sense and conscience clear,
The Canaan she is seeking will appear.

Poetry, Uncategorized

CHOICES

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