the maypunk

the maypunk powders

her face in sulphate

pins a thin-lipped

corrugated mouth

with slurred arrogance

rough-rouged hubris


the maypunk snaps

those boneyard fingers


x-ray spectacled

her banshee wail

both dali & dalek


the maypunk argues

in leather trousers

piss-stained & worse

bigging up binbags

& other such rubbish

on national tv


the maypunk sits

in towering phallus

spiralling rightways

dispatching emissaries

to scrape off the gob

hoiked in her face


the maypunk struts

the old kings road

go see the queen

god fucking save her

meet the fascists

she means it man


the maypunk holes up

at the chelsea hotel

self-soiled & needy


like lady macbeth

she cooks up her death.




By Pete Donohue

Pete Donohue works in community mental health in amazing Hastings on the Dirty South Coast of a proudly multi-cultural England and preserves his dubious sanity through creative writing, drawing, editing, reviewing and performing poetry and music.

Twitter: @petedonohuepoet

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