pubic transpurt

Long Road, Clapham Common

oh, why can’t we just have sex?

you like me and i like you

so why can’t we just do it?

yes, right here in this bus stop

ok, well, maybe not here

but somewhere close by

in the very near future

why can’t that happen?

i don’t understand

no, i don’t want to talk any more

and coffee gives me gas

dinner?  don’t push it, love

i just want to have it off with you

you know, in the old fashioned way

naked, just the two of us

no talking, only porking

a date? oh for fuck’s sake

the moment’s going, love

why can’t we just bang?

instead of holding hands

and me trying to make you laugh

and saying anything

literally, anything

to get your clothes off

things along the lines of

“yes, my favourite colour’s teal” and

“no, i want to take my time, too…”

do i shit!

all i want to do is hump you senseless

on the futon back at my flat

it would be great

we could do loooooads of jiggy jig

and then eat jaffa cakes

and watch Match of the Day

what do you say?

what do you mean you’ve got to go?

your bus is here?

the number eight?

brilliant, that’s near where i’m staying

we could bonk on the bus

if you’re running late

or on the steps of your house

if you really can’t wait

hey, don’t look at me like that

like i’m some dirty perv

only after one thing

what a nerve! As if!

is that what you think of me?

we’ve only just met

and all I can think of

is parting your legs?

that is pretty astute, to be fair

so, yeah…

is this going anywhere?

i didn’t think so

you made it quite clear

when you called the police

when i sniffed your hair

though, it’s not all bad

the cop shop’s right next to my gaff

i can walk home from there

sick squid

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you know, i pity the fool

who gets sucked in by you

there was an eight to one bargain plea

taken out by a jury of able seamen

and disabled heathens, replete with catgut

and the souls of little children

but life went on; repeat, repeat

while your many hands made work of me

you’d think you’d elicit sympathy

looking so tentacley and shit

but no, public opinion’s not cephalopod

friendly, it seems, so you’re left high

and dryin’ out on the harbor wall

where it all began, back in 2004

when i recall the first time i saw

your legs and the small

of your back and your shoulders

quite broad, and i thought “she’s a sort,”

you know, for a bird with a face like

Neptune’s sock drawer

then we got married, didn’t we?

on brighton beach, we stood in the sea

and you laughed because i fell over a wave

and i laughed because it was my perfect day

even soaking wet in a suit, I wanted to be there

i wanted you, and sure enough, post reception

we went back to the suite and we made love

in eight positions, it was a steamy affair

four arms and ten legs, slime on the chairs

and then we had bruce, our son and heir

a beautiful kid, he takes after you

except he doesn’t look like a squid,

which is really good news

ten years further on, it started going west

when you flirted with bruce’s judo teacher

laughing at his shitty jokes and suckering his chest

one night, i went to see him, to knock him out cold

but he put me in a choke hold and i passed out

and pissed myself in front of all the kids

and then they started calling bruce “pissy squid biscuits”

whatever that means, and we started to fight

every night and he cried and he cried

and he begged you to live with me

but you had the law on your side

cold and oblivious, they gave him to you

the situation was ridiculous,

because you’re three quarters terrible mum

and one quarter hideously amphibious

soon after I heard you’d hit the bottle

the stress of being a single mum

it hit you harder than most, I suppose, because

you can drink eight bacardis at once

but at least I got him back, little bruce

he’s safe and sound at home with me

and luckily he can’t see you now, head bowed

and naked, falling into the sea

you’re dried up and worthless

Kelly Mari

the prince

imagine if prince rupert

dropped some of his drops

in a courtesan

she’d have the fright

of her life

if one of them popped

i mean imagine her face

as her guts sprayed

out all over the dancefloor
priceless

heyfever

pinched spheres and bagels

bee’s feet and gametes

dimpled coffee beans and dots

three-cornered pirate seed

forget-me-not shamrocks

marmalade hoverflies and spiderlings

asthmatic hummingbirds

and simple summer swings

blamed on the ragweed

and the fever it brings