belcher green: twelfth rendering

There are two types of girl
I can’t abide at my place and I
Shan’t abide at a cocktail party

The too, too clean and the
Very dirty: cleanliness in one
Can rise to a pathology

Whereas with dirt
It’s a question of emphasis.
A standard of dress is required

Of a member,
A girl will not be admitted
Without a member

Be she a lady or what-have-you
We won’t have her. The proof is
In licking the spoon

You may think the drab little pudding
In the raincoat with the sallow skin
Might be improved with a bit of mixing

But it’s like an oven in here, isn’t it cunty?
And if the mixture is mean to begin with
No amount of beating will make it right

So it’s out the door, Lotte, or you’ll get a
Four-penny one! Else, Clara, open your
Bead-bag and let’s all have drinkettes

On the lovely member! Ian, the honours!
There, you see? The right word in your ear
And the complexion takes on a new radiance

The hair a new lustre, a very attractive dish
That little miss! Charm, deah. Not art,
I don’t give a fuck about art! And

Not the whiff of a cunty fuck about those
What lack it! I’ve had a fair bite at both,
Fair and not fair, that is, members and non-

Members and plenty of both, I’m glad to say.
As for being a beautiful woman…
True, deah, perfectly true,

I did have a Colombian gentleman
Who was in love with me.
He was a diplomat apparently, at least

I don’t know how it started. Or ended.
Where a girl keeps her key
Is a matter between mother and daughter

And if she’s unlucky enough to have neither,
Between her and her handbag, whether
It’s the key to her flat… or her heart

Or simply the key
To what she had
For a light lunch,

By night, safely and discreetly
And with that I’ll snap shut.

Members only! But you, deah
Are the exception proving the rule
Now don’t piss on the seats.

She’s not a pretty little miss, is she?
And what are you thinking, cunty?
With all that green?

That you might have made the most
Horrible mistake of your life? Yes, miss,
You! Don’t be boring. Go and clash

With the décor in the corner, would you.
There’s nothing more sorrowful than a
Hopeful girl without money

Or secrets to tell. Charm, Lotte!
Move along, Clara! With dirt or hurt
It’s all about emphasis. Come along, cunty!