Guy Bourdin
By
Stephen Philip Druce
Creature Thunder Race
flying serpents dash
with fire dragons – in bullet
wagons that race the clock,
voltage jets of flaming
demons flash –
devil spaceships crash
in aftershock,
pixie arrows chase
cannoned goblins –
skiing fairies cling to
the mermaid train,
forked vampires
in lightning rockets, go
neck and neck in
the bloody rain.
Radio DJs
So, let’s rip out the tongues –
the irreverent wrongs of
radio DJ’s that talk over songs,
they fade out the best bit –
a track in its prime, for
their small talk bullshit –
a sacrilegious crime,
turn off the station,
their self-exaltation
and get them off the air,
take them to the gallows
and fire at them arrows,
and leave them all dangling there.
Love At First Sight
He fell in love
with a lady he’d seen
standing in a shop window.
He didn’t drool over
the usual body parts that
many men do – he appreciated
the more understated qualities
of her female form.
She had the tastiest pair of
ankles he’d ever seen – like
unclimbed mountains so pure
she would never have allowed
an expedition of rookie climbers
with inadequate equipment to
stomp all over her tender gristle
bone – leaving their rubbish around
her feet, disrespecting her newly tanned
ankle surface, her leggy cloaks of smooth
golden flesh.
The sight of her nostrils drove him
berserk. He ripped his shirt off and chewed
the pavement until the police arrived.
He told the officer he was fine and that
it was the irresistible sight of her mystical
nasal hair and snot that had prompted such
an uncharacteristic display of unbridled passion.
He fell on his knees and thanked the lord
when he saw the aesthetic wonderment of her
bright red fingernails painted without any smudges –
“Picasso who?” he said.
He walked into the shop to declare his love
for her and realised she was a plastic window dress model.
Simply amaze.