Chester Zoo

7,000 animals they said.
6,000 of them jackdaws, mice
and sparrows getting the best
free handout in Cheshire.

800 were people collecting
the rip off entry charge,
begging for donations on top,
selling over priced, crap souvenirs
and peddling junk food.

One was the tiger sleeping
in his shed.
Blinking through his torpor
at the camera flashes
from the milling horde
excited to see an animal.

Sixteen were the huge fish
whose mouths were the only
movement in the tiny tank.

7,000 animals.
Only 6,800 of them
were parasites.

Doggone Shame

Doggone Shame

All the pubs
and restaurants
have now been made
smoke free.

To save the lungs
of bar staff
and keep waiters
eyes undimmed.

Now they’re healthy
on the dole queue
and all social life is dead.
The pubs are shut and empty,
café goers are unfed.

What happened to the smokers?
They are miserable at home.
Their dogs have got lung cancer
and they’re puffing all alone.

Vote

Working From Home

 

Working From Home

 

She leisurely rose at 11am.

No custom is ever around before then.

Strong coffee and chats

with mates on the phone.

A couple of fags, some toast

and a line.

An hour or two more

and she’ll feel just fine.

 

First job of the day,

get the ironing out.

Some slap on the face,

the right bra and pants.

Back from the window

she finds the right place.

 

Just after two, the telephone rings.

A time waster asking

the wrong sort of things.

An hour goes by

and a car slowly passes.

She irons again

the same pair of panties.

 

The car passes once more.

It parks and the bell rings.

Strong bargaining follows,

the product won’t fit.

The client requires a thing

that he can’t have.

Some late price adjustment

might clinch the deal.

No, she just cannot meet

the specialist need.

 

Four-o-clock turns.

Her regular weekly.

Bang on time,

a predictable job.

A routine half hour,

tediously easy.

Reliably bringing

a needed few quid.

 

At last the phone ringing.

A chance to earn something

“Yes I ‘m free.

Just come on round.”

Another quick line

for a bit of a boost.

The doorbell rings.

Time to earn a crust.

 

This guy, never seen before,

sent by a friend.

Wants a lot

for what he pays.

She can’t afford

to turn him down.

Must do her best

to please him.

 

Another quick line

to sharpen up.

It’s time when things get busy.

A packet of crisps

for the gnaw in her guts.

Can’t risk going out

to the shop.

 

Back at the iron,

the light set right,

a trickle of clients

comes by.

By one in the morning,

all movement is done.

She draws deep on a late cigarette.

Her boyfriend arrives

with much needed coke

and takes her,

so rough,

by the throat.

 

She hands him the cash,

which isn’t enough,

and he’s gone again

into the night.

 

The curtains are closed,

she drops on the couch.

Stinging from

the slap on her face

that he gave as he left

through the door.

An order was barked

to earn some more.

Stop wasting time on herself.

End of a home working day.

Low Fashion

 

Low Fashion

 

When full bonnets

became all the rage

not a head hair

could be seen.

The blondes who wanted

fun filled life

all felt

they were unclean.

 

The red heads

with their carrot tops

concealed from general view

were laughed at

for their freckles

and never

brought to bed.

 

Boring, mousy office clerks

could nto believe their luck.

After years and years of trying

they could always get a fuck.

 

But next there came a fashion

for window fronted skirts.

They were worn with pretty panties

that had heart shaped holes in front.

 

Waxing was now waning,

a depilator’s doom.

Only Frankie went to Hollywood.

Brazilians filled with gloom.

 

Merkin makes celebrate

the unexpected boom.

This noble craft is flourishing

along with home grown pubes.

 

Some ladies in their burkhas

have fitted little grills

where wispy hair can wave outside

and hint at inner thrills.

 

With the hairdressers neglected

and the beauty parlours closed,

the economy was suffering

just as you supposed.

So then came pubic highlights.

Yes! Blues and orange too.

Waxing makes a come back

twisting curlies to fine points.

 

Knickers were discarded

for confining the display.

Skirt windows all expanded

until they were fullest bay.

 

Van Dykes walked down every street

in glorious display.

There were some Walter Raleigh’s

and a Darwin by the way.

 

Disaster struck with straighteners,

a faulty Chinese batch,

the rash of roasted pussy

caused panic in a flash.

 

The bonnets have all disappeared

and Hollywood is tops.

Jeans have made a comeback

over plastered pinky bits.

Saturday Sally

 

Robert was rigid,

the rule book his ruler.

Relations with clients

were sometimes strained.

They didn’t know

his panties were pretty

Lacy and small

so tight on his dickie.

His pinstripes were perfect,

his tie straight and trim.

No one would think

of challenging him,

but on Saturday he was Sally.

 

Robert was cross

when staff were too sloppy.

He could be stern

and terribly stroppy.

They didn’t know

his toenails were red

Inside shiny shoes

so perfectly polished.

But on Saturday he was Sally.

 

Saturday Sally was so

sweet and sexy.

She chatted and flirted

dancing so happily.

Everyone saw her

flowing blonde hair

bobbing above

a face painted gorgeously,

 

Stresses and tensions

were left with Robert.

Only on Monday

would he show his head.

Sally cared nothing

for Robert irascible.

Wishing only that

he could be dead.