They must be
A couple
Of right bitches
To ill threat
The young man so;
One blonde,
One brunette,
Thinking themselves,
No doubt,
God’s gift,
Gift of the gab
More like,
Strutting their
Henhouse tracks
With feathers
Prim and proper
They like to think.
Smell the perfume stink,
The eyelids painted,
Nails clipped
And primed,
Tongues wagging,
Like tails of bitches
On full heat.
Karma has its way
Of making things
Right in the end.
Sufficient lies
To hang themselves
Given time, enough
Tall tales to drown in
Like plump frogs
Caught out
In the last fast
Downpour.
Like snakes
They spit their
Joined venom;
Like snakes
They prefer
The long grass;
How each of them
Moves like a hippo
To the waterhole,
Each with their
Swaying fat ass.
Terry Collett
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/right-bitches/
