wendy young

wendy young

Northerner/Londoner: Cut teeth at Survivors Poetry. Performs London and beyond. Part-time NHS Worker.

Thursday, 28 February 2019 17:21


Published in Poetry


by Wendy Young

An obscene excuse for a human being, hands - greasy as your slick backed hair -
that cut the cards that make the deals that deck your boats that seal the fate of

That skirt your tails that bang your drum that snatch your crumbs that lot you flogged to that 2nd rate ‘Chap’ who snapped ‘em up like market glut
Pound a Company!

Your name suggests naiveté, chakra of the heart, linked to the colour of nature, but yours is dark,
Like a dinner served up
The 11,000 to a shark

You’re Mr Yuck, you’re Mr Greed, you covet and you envy, a chiding brat ‘DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT’
You’re snot, you’re spew, you’re luminous puke, you’re the dryness in the levee

Sail away forever and a day on your beautiful pea green boat
Live like a slob, use your wife’s slimy name but wherever you are look out!
If luck is a lady you may fall foul so don your cloth and pray
Your sleaze, your flout, your barrow boy clout protects you from the mob

To quaff and scoff with arse-licking fops who really ought to frown you
Drown you

Justice truly would see thee rebuked most vehemently
Entrails dragged in a BHS trolley to Traitor’s Gate
A fate to fit your folly

The time will come you suck your thumb, you’ll simper and say ‘Sorry’

‘Mummy, mummy, mummy they’re after my blood
they’re saying I’m low and I’m bad
but all I want is an empire and Kate Moss hanging off my knob.’