What possesses someone to get Myra Hindley and Ian Brady portrait tattoos

on their shins? Barely a wafer of skin
there to cushion you, that'd cane, surely.
And how nice that Brady gets a look in!
So often Hindley's Helga 'do, bleached
to hell, and those inquisitor blues
would hog the front page.
Let's not forget who made her
her first Nuremberg mix tape.

Myra's been shaded too zealously
around the bones - looks like regrowth.
Brady's smooth as a hockey mask and bored.
They walk among us like totems,
under trousers at job interviews.
The other day on the train
you apologised for kicking Myra Hindley in the face.
Fancy that! And you a father!