hour 17

Mike, Mike, Mike,
what day is it?
Cockadoodledo he sings,
not a fag hag instead
a dyke Mike,
following around the lez
like a puppy-wannabe poodle.

He wants to groom
her Bristol mons and
pluck her eyebrows
into unreal arches,
so she looks
excited, awake, intense

Despite her straight line
unibrow which dips into
a v as she scowls at him
in dissent.

He begs and pleads
tweezers in hand,
I can make you more beautiful!

“More” she responds, guffawing

Just clean me up a bit
and be done with it
as she leans back in the chair.


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