like the poor performer in court
dressed like a charity shop pantomime horse
wiggling my raggy, baggy arse
tap dancing through the routine I rehearsed
desperate to get my sentence reversed

like the sweaty shopper who scurries
across the supermarket car park pursued by Furies
who flap around me like monstrous canaries
and drop to do me unspeakable injuries
then thank me sweetly for shopping at Sainsbury’s

like the maudlin mafioso mobster
struggling to finish his plate of lobster
out in the alleyway back of the dumpster
where he just took the seafood cook and tossed her
for failing to pay his dyspeptic sponsor

like the slimline actor peddling goop
eggs for the mange and herbs for the droop
and a chakra cleanser like a neon hoop
that’s great for cancer, crabs and croup
if you sign up now for her exclusive group