Royal Tender (a punt for the poet laureateship) - First Published in The Frisson Anthology by Stairwell Books

A truth dirtier than a nine-bob-note
is that we all crave our majesty’s face
multiplied and pressed tight
up against our thighs.

Coin after coin plunked in close to the crotch
with the jingling ecstasy of bed-springs,
or paper crumple-creased
as tissues soiled and greased.

We don’t much care which profile’s nestled there,
the young and thin, or the slight double chin
provided she’s replenished
again and again.


Clarisse Teagen said…
You sound desperate for something. ehem. ehem.
poetrytutor said…
Not sure it will achieve the usurping of Duffy Mr Nash but that's mainly because it's too damned good to be a laureatte poem.