Tracy from Tamworth

Your hair is streaked.
A strange cut.
Your knees are weak.
A beer gut.

Leggings and eyebrows.
A strange look.
Beer-sodden loud rows,
A quick fuck.

Your brother’s your uncle,
His sister’s his wife.
Blood stains on the carpet,
A Pound Shop knife.

Short skirt in Sainsburys,
Tits out in Boots.
Stock up in Iceland
Must do your roots.

Old leather lips Tracy
There’s no ifs or buts.
Let me buy you a cider,
Some dry roasted nuts.

Living in the land that time forgot,
Six-fingered gloves and cheap shots – your Tracy from Tamworth

Edward says...

When you're asleep at night, aren't dreams wonderful things? A fantasy world of images, colours and film-like footage all generated by your brain and re-run with you as the main character. But, the dreams you have while awake, when they come true, can be so much better. This poem combines the two, nightmare imagery and blissful dream-like states of euphoria. Look closely at the image! Edward