b

 A few pretty girls passed and laughed

I heard them whisper but not what

then they stopped walking and laughed more

and turned around to look shamelessly

I could smell the curry of coronation chicken

the hair of my moustache

the yellow mayonnaise

and I tried to suck the hair into my mouth

the girls approached, said “my god”

loud enough to hear

but nothing to me as such, not directly

“small hands,” one said

and she was right but a real cunt

worthy only of ignoring as best I might

as though they were trees or shrubs

or some other art of the landscape

of ignoring or else upbraiding

on the end of my pillock.