Rosamunda’s Embrace
A June affair for Rosa and John;
controlled by carers, ruled by the sun.
Childish fumbling, a twisted fist;
stroke of a bud, a red petal kiss.
He rhythmically tips his electric chair
till the time is right to enter her.
Rosa scratches with passion at his skin
and whispers so gently, “You are a man.”
Flat on his back, ecstatic and spent,
John lies in her arms, drenched in her scent.
Watched from the window, panic and rush:
“Help over here, John’s in the rose bush!”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Landlord's Daughter
Always good for a laugh was the landlord's daughter –
gorgeous too. With Guinness-cream skin and wide mouthed smile
we'd pap her cleavage on our mobiles.
Then she met him (the posh twat): “Julian's taking me
to Reykjavik,” she said as she bent the caps off
our bottles of Becks. “What the fuck's in Reykjavik?” we asked.
I try to imagine her in a wet T-shirt (no bra of course)
mascara running, laughing at The Blast.
You see she stepped over the geyser at just the wrong time
and, with flesh like a Doner, took four weeks to die.
Now the landlord's off sick (it's the smell that gives him nightmares)
and the new barmaid's shit; she's got acne and small tits.
* Kezia Green describes herself as a short lady with dark hair.
