Cath Kidston blitz spirit laid down
a hand in September, Cold & Sick
with a paperweight
as my groin the AQA papers fold
my consent, snaps braid-pins
with a naive tongue blunted & dumb
wrens to offer me a home or shelter.
Between Beech & Red Oak,
forgotten in the forest of Blean,
Back-breed flags gone morbid
to fetishes what hard choices
go muddling through right now
alone cold on a sofa watching
Little Miss Sunshine to
fetal fondled position,
a grown woman on my Teenage pulse
holes are bedspread
to textile Provence Rose
Pink tines filled with shame
& touch, a human warmth's
in the small of your back
the smell of Ilford multigrade developer
makes the latent image visible
under the Chin of Headmaster
Rare Peppermint Green Metallic Jaguar
life hangs sucking
from bonnets twisted searches
its Pale Dark Stone interior
lollback the membrane,
half bodies epilogue
afraid of childhoods
wrecked out smothers a wooden spoon
from Tipperary to nape shaped
the solemnity of Mary.
I am your nighttime Buser,
your furred Menstrual poke
your house undulled
I am your swooning Learning lips wet
to your toes
your past-loves blotted out,
I am all these things to Suck & sole
my young blood pricks this tarnished place
saved from bed-wet dawns & leather truncheons,
saved from loves death its earliest companion,
saved from Mothers breathe.
To be cleaned in lugworms,
whelks quantity of roses & leaves
& bows what else chokes cairns
of white posts, Pederasty
& English Sans serif
smug on mugs & tea towels
you accumulate in Polka-Dot tins
wear your hair in a victory roll
& sew a cushion cover over
rare Heath Fritillary butterflies
on Thanet Way Shingle,
the songs of Nightingales
phoning Childline on Sunday,
in a thicket of sores
YOUR COURAGE
to come forward in affluent villages.
