This is nice too

Second poem written about me in a month. I’m entirely flattered to be a subject of conversation. Jus’ sayin’.

He and She

He’s decked out in docs and a dog end hangs out his lips,
Posh, he is not, he’s still got that quaint Essex kiss.
Shirt sleeves rolled up reveal embossed biceps beneath,
A hat tops his crop and tattoos garland his teeth.

She traverses round in tracksuits, trying to trick the world
She’s a fighter and a wreck loose, an entirely modern girl,
She’s anarchic from her hair roots, loves jazz and old soul.
Hates bankers and the jackboot they have imprinted on the world.

He stands at six foot six with jeans as tight as sin
Don’t suffer fools (or pricks) and there are stories on his skin.
Looks in charity shops and vintage fairs, for to find his clothes.
He has a plug popped through one ear; a shard of silver through his nose.

She leads a life of love and drugs, but affirmably middle class,
Drinks darkest, deepest rum, but always from the glass.
She has leopard print engraved on the side of her head,
Can’t see the straight from the gay, but knows she likes boys in bed.

He and she are pretty, and known for being strange
He and she are golden, soft and older than their age.
He and she could break apart and remain two secure wholes.
He and she, I’m glad I met, as they are weird but beautiful souls.

Lewis Buxton

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About shakkka

Londoner, climate scientist, extremist. All views are my own.

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