A Free Lap Dance, Only If Your Friendship Is Down The Shit Hole


Moonlight, moonlight,
the moonlighting child of 291:
who couldn’t complete a puzzle
after pieces were placed backwards
and back to front
in a bukkake of cardboard and a only-child-childhood. 

She slips through the silage waste
by the mileage gauge
of the bus back to work-
her 4th time this week
due to a timetable tweak, that saw her
usual 7/10 being replaced to a bleak 12/3,
of cheap men and expensive dances
subsidised by the notes they have yet to win
on 22 to 1 chances.

And 25 percent of what I earn
could buy me 10 minutes with a friend
whom I can see for free on mayday weekends.
But playgrounds are no place for topless
indulges, smoking and no touching
(because that costs more)
as swings are made for children,
not for the desperate and lonely and scared and frightened and the slightly embarrassed.

Still, I cannot fathom out why?
She dances on the laps of those lonely enough to sit next
to another lonely one where a lone soul dances a lonely dance on their lap too.
Still, I cannot fathom out why?
She strays away into a 3 minute wonder
hallucinating on greed- whipping her hair around as if
a mare in new soft sand sitting still on a slip-wet surface.

Still, I accept this notion and move on.