Porky, freckles, fat with his flowers, bouquets in buckets the lay-by boy, a bottle of coke, diet with chocolate mice and gingerbread men all sit around, engrossed ( if a little depleted ) listen to stories, tall and wild make you believe, it’s true… They were born in the hundreds And died in their teens Now walking the earth By night, In search of.. “a couple of quid , miss” “for a sorry old rose?” needs loving, Infection, Fresh meat, Craving blood , All Hallows eve…. forgotten the day he married his love.. “quick! a tenner carnations” should do the trick eased journey home As hell awaits, Axe in hand Eyes glazed, Not a sound until “how much?” a finger points wavering, a price and a frown Dragging his arm, Tendons mashed, fragrant freesias, sad they were the last, Limping Through the graves The scent of lilies, And death… The hero, Tall, Muscles ripped Saves the day, The world, The girl, Around his neck, The softest kiss On rugged cheek, a ginger whiff the crowd, thinning fast, a gulp , and washed away, until tomorrow…
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