Siobhan and Courtney, on the game, in the woods
Foxy and female, always on the prowl
Siobhan sports maroon-dark nails,
A fag droops from her hand,
Languid as the smoke that curls upwards
Thin as an old man’s beard
Her lips are slightly apart, but not inviting
Her teeth are small and uneven like those of a sheep
A metal stud pierces the narrow arch of her eyebrow
Her greasy hair’s pulled up in a velvet scrunch
Her stockings are black. Her knees are blue with cold
She is wearing a black Goth basque with pearl sequins
Under a suede coat, festooned with grassy smears
From outdoor couplings.
Black platform shoes sink into the spidery grass
She is leaning against the bark of an old tree
Its roots all toadstool and mushroomy
Its bark is alive with parasites rippling under its skin
They hunt in pairs, these girls
Courtney is sprouting satanic horns on her head
Her eyes are empty as clouds on a misty day
She is holding a doll in her fingerless white lace gloves
Her skirt is childlike, very short and flouncy,
Suggestive of innocence, with a soupcon of De Sade.
In knee high socks, pure white, with little girl sandals
She is every inch the faked up stainless virgin
Siobhan and Courtney, on the game, in the woods
Foxy and female, always on the prowl
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