beauty and the beast

beauty's a bitch
and where the tyre tread meets the tarmac
fat hubcaps itch
to land a fatal canine bitchslap.
chrome rims dream
of that wharf rat ground
to a rug-flat hairpiece,
blood welling up like a bust claret tap
its guts crapped out its ringpiece.
a urethra-pink bow
caps a gleaming red corona;
a perfect sanguine mirror
for its balustraded owner

screaming:
'beauty! o my beauty!
somebody save my beauty!'

yet the dog is pristine

playing chicken mixed with frogger
while each hot-sheened wheel trim
shears nearer, nearer
grinning like a wanking chimp
it doesn't seem to hear her

yelling:
'beauty! o my beauty!
somebody save my beauty!'

for this jellied spinster
life's all
smelling salts and histrionics
afternoons measured out with scenes
over dropped spoons
or lukewarm gin and tonics.
can it really be a fluke
that her precious pet
slipped its noose while she slept
and, set loose, crept
through a zoo of scatter cushions, chintz,
plates heaped with fondant fancies
past varicose-trellised bints
who wince at sunlight
who stink of piss, pot-pourri and murray mints
who glimpse their reflections
in a dead TV

and think:
beauty¦ o beauty¦
somebody save my beauty¦

so this is payback

beauty's tail wagging harder
than the rear wiper on a lada
this pooch never felt
so alive

barking:
here's for a thousand
afternoons of countdown!
here's for your sour breath!
here's for never walking me
for your whining, joyless cowardice
and your face that looks like death!
here's for calling me beauty!
o you beast!
you stupid
greedy
hollow
sallow-jowled
wine gum-sucking
beast!
you
ugly
ugly
ugly
ugly
monster half-deceased!

o lord
don't let me end my stretch
wrapped in a purple shawl
that reeks of lavender
far better to waltz under wheels
and wind up
a five foot streak of viscera
than grinding down
in a haze
of herbal baths
and dour complaints
and days
and days
and days