Saturday, 20 August 2011


The theme was Angels and Devils and you
looked so sweetly innocent in your
gauze and wings, your
long hair coiled and tressed, your
lips a pretty pink and
part of me wanted to
preserve that picture for
posterity but the darker part foresaw with
pleasure the point of the party when
gauze would be torn and
wings bent, that lovely mouth
pleasing men and women whilst your
lower orifices were
otherwise employed, and I
looked forward to
wrapping you in my coat, after,
my tired and satisfied Angel
sighing into my shoulder
reeking of sperm and
leaking pleasure.


She looked at herself in the mirror and
marvelled at the mess they’d made: her
matted hair was Harry
missing by a mile; her
schoolmarm glasses saved her eyes
from Simon’s spurts;
left cheek was Charles, right
aggressive Andy; the thick
ammoniac taste was Dwayne and
Fred and Chico and Shane
--oh and cold-eyed Winston who’d
made sure she swallowed; the
decaying pearl necklace was Ming;
right breast dripped with Dave;
left with Anthony and weirdly
Stan had sprayed her shoulder-blades.

She resaw herself then as they
surrounded her sore, naked,
kneeling body and felt relief and
regret that Graduation was but
once a year.