December 18, 2008

One day – I worry I’ll
end up on one of those
reality TV programmes – Gok Wan,
prodding at my bare bum,
like a piece of livestock.

It’ll be like a packet of salmon.
I won’t see it happen. One moment I’ll be
sitting on the loo with some cut price booze,
the next I’ll be seeing an advert
in the cubicle: participants wanted –
to take off all their clothes.

One day I worry
I’m really going to do it –
bare all to the Highcross,
moon on a building.
I won’t know what I’m doing.
I’ll tell myself it’s research
I’m an undercover feminist,
when really it’s the hell of it
I’ll do it for.

My mother will complain to the BBC,
she’ll tell them I was ill,
and probably smoking weed,
and I’ll wake up the next day
in my tiny little flat
and not know what I’ve done,
’cause I’ve done it in a trance.

But one day I worry
that I’ll do it without thinking,
it’ll be a kind of killing
a masochism willing
to destroy the world I live in,
just because –


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