Friday 16 November 2012

An Oxford Whore


In my gown and mortar-board--the ones I’d
worn to receive my PhD--very high heels and
nothing else, I bent over to show
tonight’s patron the part of me
without brains as this one was an
arse-bandit for whom I was
well-prepared and there was a
particular problem in astrophysics I could
ponder until he was ensconced and I could
enjoy, though it amused me that
while I saw the stars he
plundered where there was no sun.

There was not much call for
cosmologists in the current climate and the
conundra of the current account
foxed even my mathematical mates now
counting chips at McDonald’s, so
why not sell my body whilst it was
still mine to sell?

Logic is much misunderstood and the
logic of prostitution more so but
do we need the dismal science to
elucidate the obvious?
Men will pay when women provide and
Oxford is full of clever, desperate men:
my mind is still mine, galaxies still
spin across it, and besides,
someone has to make the
spires dream and
stay erect.

1 comment:

  1. Great poem! Something about this line really got me: "/
    why not sell my body whilst it was
    still mine to sell?"

    ReplyDelete