Milady’s First Hours

What on earth have I gotten myself into?
I’ve been a luxury cruise liner for this little devil
For a full nine months –
Why is this the hardest part?
I thought we were just returning to port.
“Push,” they say, “push!”
Yes, no, I’m well aware, thank you,
Of my pushing responsibilities.
I’m sure I want this thing out of me
Far more than any of you.
Bless him,
George did want to stay,
But I squeezed his hand too tight
And called him ungodly names,
So he fainted on top of me.
“This is it,” they say,
“The final push.”
About time too, I’ve been at this for hours
Can’t the little beggar just crawl out
On its own talons?
Anyway, here goes.
And might I say,
Before we get any further,
With the utmost respect and love,
Fuck you George.

What the fuck is this?
Excuse me,
But the first thing I see on God’s clinical Earth,
Is my own mother’s inflated vagina
And the mess I’ve caused on these lovely white sheets.
“It’s a beautiful girl!”
Too damn right.
And you could look a little more pleased about it,
Women aren’t just brown paper wrapping for
Other people to emerge from.
One day we’ll have a lady prime minister.
Yeah, that’s more like it,
Let that cautious little smile spread over-
What is that man doing with those huge fucking scissors?
You could trim a hedge with them.
Keep those well away from me,
You smarmy git,
I am a baby, don’t you know.
Oh no, it’s fine,
The silly bastard was just teasing.
Though I do feel less connected to mother now.

Milady’s Combo Washer-Dryer

So you’re touching me right up against the wall
And now I’m falling
Through the deepest well of sleep, but wait, what’s creeping
While I’m sleeping?
It’s a big fat fucking spider and that’s why the
Big collider
Under Switzerland is trying to find who God is
No, that’s not it
They’re just trying to do some clever quantum science
Some appliance
I can spin a bunch of atoms in my washer
Nothing posher
Maybe they’d be more successful in my dryer
And then while the
Protons spin around you’ll sit me up on top
And touch me up
While vibrations rock my world, then we can all
Forget the wall
And the touching altogether, you can leave,
I won’t grieve
I’ll just sit here getting off upon my clever God collider:
My combo washer-dryer.

Milady Undergoes a Change

I’m sometimes too hot, and sometimes too cold,
I once was too young, and now am too old,
I can’t find a lover to have and to hold,
To love and to cherish, to nag and to scold.

My body is Changing, my boobs are too low,
My belly is sagging, my back starts to bow,
The red has stopped running, the blood just won’t flow,
A single black hair grows on my big toe.

I’m sick, I’m wrong, I don’t belong,
The barbie dolls go on and on,
As far as they concern themselves
My face could run the whole furlong.

Screw them, I say, their plastic tits,
Peroxide hair and botoxed bits,
At least I’m still myself throughout,
All hairy toes and sweaty pits.

My heart’s aflame,
With Change to blame,
I need a love dictator;

Downstairs it’s hot,
Perhaps I ought
To find a good vibrator.

Milady Turns Sixty

In spite of all attempts it seems I’ve reached the big six-oh,
Perhaps the Change is Changing me more than I’d ever know.
The phallus doesn’t cut it now, the meat and veg can go,
And anyway, with men my age I find it doesn’t grow.
I long for something different, yes, I’m searching for a Change,
A Change to match the Changing Change, a mid-life rearrange,
I just can’t fix on anything, my thoughts are far too strange,
My mood swings up and down like a capricious stock exchange.
Except the other day,
When by accident I spied,
A lovely lady lay,
And all made up to be a bride.
My heart was all aquiver,
Not so lightly I confide
That downstairs and thus downriver
My desire for men had died.
The groom could not excite me, nor could he excite his wife,
Which became apparent in an act that Changed my middling life.
I looked at her, she looked at me, we ran off arm in arm,
I ran off with a woman filled with wits and female charm.
What larks, I thought, it’s maddening to think I’ve spent this long,
With wasting time on man and men and disappointing dong.
I’m all about fine ladies now, please call me Tits McGee,
Just wait ‘til you turn sixty and I’m sure that you’ll agree.

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