#2,445 Visiting

Mike Bell/ June 19, 2022/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

I see her sour-countenance
[all beak-nose pecking] – in
half an hour she’ll be out of
my sight – off to haranguing
her auld man – back to that
sad preen – it does her little
good – you can’t magic ugly
turds shiny – Her rear was a
brace of lunar faces – pitted
& white – hint of age’s greys
on them – She rode on him –
on top at midday – a flabby
sight so disturbing [an arse
at it] – I presume it was him
under that flesh-pot of love
& fucking – It’s what I see [if
I see ‘em] – all wobbly recall
of an off-putting quick visit

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