Tuesday, 14 May 2013

Pleistocene


We expect your throat to be capacious but
choke on our toothbrushes: expect
contortions when our
bones creak; expect a
waxed vagina to host a
hirsute pubis.

We wrap up warmly yet still
expect you en d├ęshabille, or
dressed like sluts to complement our
designer suits, our jewels snug in
comfy boxers whilst your waist is
cinched to wincing in that corset we
thoughtfully bought you.

You must of course be sweet smelling and
spotlessly clean, both
inside and out, while we
muss your hair when we
pull your immaculate face into our
misguided idea of hygiene.

So why, after all these millennia, haven’t you
changed us? Don’t tell me that
somewhere beneath that
civilised veneer, there is a
secret hankering for a
caveman?


1 comment:

  1. I find it highly entertaining when one of your poems makes me talk back or maybe that just makes me crazy :)

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