Times is hard, Mrs Lovett & Horse
[ poetry - june 09 ]
Times is hard, Mrs Lovett
The whore folds
herself into him,
her left hand
on his groin,
Such times, lover,
closer to God.
Word's out thereís a stash in the coop
but this mare no longer chases tales
though I can sniff them lucid and living.
It probably began with chicken fever
puncturing the groinís puckered veins.
Now Iím a crock of bin ladenís best.