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Stag Night

How come I came,
hardly remembering my name?
Dumped like a bag of bones,
alone among stony outcrops of some
God forsaken bandit land.
Feeling wrecked toes twitching
in a sheep polluted beck,
latch key round my neck,
road map taped to satin vest,
could this be some kind of test?
Then spotted, arrested,
by a mucus fuelled testosterone
walking his Billy Goats Gruff.
“Don’t come trip trapping on my bridge
With your pigeon toed fancy high heels,
We don’t have your sort round here.”
He wrenched open my clasp bag,
Scattering the last of my Chanel No. 5,
ruby wine lipstick, designer eye liner
into some prickly bushes.
It was then I recalled my lush stag night-
wedding today-frightful bride,
image of my mother who had procured
and lured her-the strange tasting
sherbet treble vodka whirl.
I glanced at my Lotte Lempere
Diamenti encrusted watch.
“Oh my god, too late, its fate.”
I leaned and kissed his whiskery jaw,
blew a kiss to all his sheep and goats.
I’d missed the boat.
He was off down the road
As fast as his legs could propel him
Shouting “This guys a nutter.” to no one.
Light headed, elated i walked off,
Singing “Mad About The Boy.”
“This ones for you Noel.”
I had always been a coward
but when my mobile rang
I saw it was mummy, switched it off,
slung it in the ditch, twirled round
like the true bitch I’d always wanted to be,
and walked back into the sunrise.

18 Jun 10

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I like this, it told a story to me
 — psychofemale

It told a helluv a one to me too

Larry fabled Lark
 — larrylark

You dog. I was immersed! The last stanza carried a stomping beat which rattled my bones! I like how delicately bad ass this poem is.

Yours inferiorly,

 — Squibble

Only you my dear squibbles have appreciated the depth of anguish depair and yearning portrayed within this novel

Larry as it is Lark
 — larrylark

Fun read
 — l0d0vic0