2 Poems by
Tim Wells
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She's About A Mover
I remember her once
rolling home through the streets in the bakery hours AM,
full of Tom Paine and champagne,
proffering a flower
to a bloke erecting a ladder at a petrol station.
"Stick it up yer arse," he snarled.
When she did, trousers to ankles,
giving us all a blooming smile
his love of humanity didn't blossom any,
but he could feel the pressure
of the weeds beneath concrete
thrusting their way through.
Minding The Gap
On the job 2 weeks.
Doin' a 2 day training course.
Less than 2 hours in this room.
Already bored.
Opposite,
There's a big pile of girl.
A generous girl,
A girl in a short skirt.
A skirt way too short
For a room
Where the air-conditioning
Doesn't work.
And hey!
It's spring.
My mind's wandering.
Ridin' that train.
And my eyes...
Keep drawing down
To her thighs.
In the "Getting to know you"
Bit we started with,
She revealed
She was in the Naval Reserve.
Now I can't but look
At her navy knickers.
Mmm,
Navy blue knickers.
Navy blue knickers
And Wrens cap.
See I just can't
Keep my mind
On what's in hand.
It's not even
That I want to look.
It's just that I can
And I can't stop...
Mmm,
Marbled flesh.
Well, to be honest,
More that someone's
Taken a blue biro
And repeatedly traced
The Victoria Line
Up and down
Her inner thigh.
All "Mind the gap"
And the heady
Finsbury Parkness
Of my finest moments.
She's squeezing out
Lemon juice looks.
I don't blame her.
I can't stop myself.
The people here
Must think I'm a right perv.
New job and all,
Not the impression
I wanted to give...
Though accurate.
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