Poem - MAG Poetry Prize 2010
Sonnet
by
Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK
My boot makes mockery
of a puddle,
Mirroring the buzz of
bass in my brain.
Another night out
bashing the cocaine
Rots the mind. Home life is bloody awful.
Who would have thought
the sex could be so dull?
Like a disease, does
one lone thought remain;
A business deal down
some scummy back lane.
A cheap screw? Or a kiss and a cuddle?
At home, her cold
Quiche Lorraine waits, its crust
Crumbles like the
wife’s face, after greeting
A fist. In the shadows, a flash of thigh
Is a bribe, a deadly
invite for lust.
A tenner covers our
cum-faced meeting,
Yet nothing can be
done to satisfy.
Added: 27.04.2010
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