Heated Rollers

Someone
Rumour has it
Has half-inched the ice bucket
There’ll be no oyster party
No biscotti
No coffee
Motty
Not very soothing
Is it?

Added heat

As the sheepskin preachers
Bless their balls
The treads of strippers’ slippers
Bite like summer hornets
And cornets fanfare
A bit too sharp
A bit too picky

As the farmer’s hands
Make hay with
Unseemly dreams
Of Rene stir sweet
And creamy
In cups the size of
That take the
Mickey

As the dockers ask
Stick of rock cock?
Their carved visages
Blisters on the vista
Guarding the coal shed
Double locked and
Tricky

As the haze
Glazes these chickens
Down the road
The load of the situation
Becomes like buns
Soft and
Very
Sticky