Miss Dolly Bumfrey
We bear Muscat
To your sick by traction.
Making headway at that driving test
Was the needles up-and-up.
Annihilating two easy-natured cherubs,
En route to a wall – pop,
Under par. Snifters on zing-alongs –
Don’t nurture.
For Miss Effie Christian
On your intentions to Max Killday,
Death row cageling, we round-up, loaded –
Breathless at another moon-barking pluck.
Degenerate as tender hearts can be
This sweet patootie isn’t your most godawful.
The fatal injection takes liberties.
Time’s a pair of winks.
To Bethany Hun
Whether we’ve conviction
In a ‘violence gene’ or dissent,
Your abortion has our favour.
Those mugged by your blood ties
Are head-counted in the umpteen.
Snatch this untroubled ‘love-lies-bleeding’ clump
And £20 note,
As tender thanks from us neighbours.
Upright efforts are invariably saluted.
Naturally, Mr. Ainsley Worth
We’ve thrown-together sentiments
On your blue-colour interview pull-off.
The earnings are dashed hopes,
Particulars lamentable.
Experience’s fitting only on CVs.
We’ll be glad-spirited if it’s fly-by-night
– Here’s to a trap-escaped destiny.
