Last Debut

Lost the ribbons from her hair
The night they torched the county fair
Peroxide locks from a movie still
The closing night on her debut

As the scribblers licked Miss World
She posed alone for trees unfurled
And took a gasper from a hand
Followed to the old band stand

It makes me sick just to think of it
He’s waiting for me
Waiting for me

A broken couch to cast a star
Camera sparks like a bumper car
Eyes are wide, thighs astride
Picture Goers smiles are lies

Tiny hands don’t fit right round
Fearful vagrants drown the sound
The lullaby of her crimson cry
Sliding, splitting awry goodbye

You think I’m sick to think of it
He’s waiting for me
Waiting for me

Held my chest as he grazed his lips
Dreamt for more in my fingertips
Not so much curved but underdone
Rocking to a riot gun

You took my breath away gently
Faded, pounded, buckled knees
But no review of my last debut
Hatred’s ace, I’m too taboo

They’re told they’re sick to think of it
But he’s waiting for me
Waiting for me

© Owen Emmerson & Michael Whitehead (2012)

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