The Blood That Moves the Body

It’s the blood that moves their bodies
to come sniffing around like dogs;
all the males on their hands and knees
feigning interest to get what they want.
They might do it in designer suits
Inside Porsches parked round the block;
With maybe Soul –II-Soul on the Blaupunkt
After a meal at Gavin’s Rox.
It’s sickly sweet and sticky too
A long, hot summer
That makes you throb;
Coming and going with the full moon
It makes you swoon with nauseous rot
as they come buzzing around
with pagers bleeping, coming…coming…gone!
To leave you up there hanging
Staring at the spreading puddles of damp.
This curse of blood…it makes you cry
To want to curl up into a ball and softly die;
But that’s as nothing when it stops
It pushes you to the edge of madness
Trying to talk down the pimply youth that you once was
But that falling…falling…forever bawling
betrayl…neglect…mistrust.
As you smash it’s head against the concrete
A mourning sickness – that splatters like blood.
It’s Traced around your Gaelic lips
As you stare blankly at the cops;
There’ll be pain…shame – too much to explain
To her father, her lover, her brother
Standing there like P.C. Plod
She can feel it like a kick from the inside
As she clings desperately to what she’s got.

Kanthe ‘90