Larkwoman

She’s a chip butty blonde with pancake make-up;
they captured her beauty in the police mock-up.
Sink estate siren I sought to better
like a shoddy snobby hobby a la ‘Educating Rita’.
But I could not keep that Larkman lovely on the go,
lost her to irony lost on her: a machoman on a mini-moto.

She’s the Chav Rose of Cadge Close,
but not for long: underclass beauty fades young
- a little slap ‘n’ tickle, mostly SLAP, and it’s gone!
O my scrumptious scrubber, how can I forget 
1st time I ever leered at
the elastic on your robbed Topshop underwear,
your sparkly belly-stud thru your tiny pot belly,
fake eyelash’s worth of thatch crowing of the snatch
and angel tat emanating from your arsecrack?

Ashtray of a spliffyman with plastic priapus on a spring
my Larkman ladette bought me to commemorate our fling
(she got it from a jokeshop down Great Yarmouth).
We wore matching Sovereign rings, but hers is back at Argos. 
She still look sexy puffing that Superking, 
but it’s another nugget’s sprog
stuffing her muffintop, cot-death-in-waiting.

Intrauterine
woodbines 
made her miscarry mine
in the nick o’ time...