by Canaan Olsen
A poem inspired by the news on 7th Mar 2023 that Kyle Walker, the England footballer, was caught exposing himself in a bar.
Let’s see what you got she said as he fumbles for some change.
A penny for the peep show in slate Armani grey
And grainy eyes awake and wink and peer through hollowed walls
At yawning fabric splayed out across a market stall.
Meat slapped on the butcher's block
No shock.
Elasticated slap it lands
Sundried
Towel dried
A punchline to
All that tongue-tied locker-room chat.
Greased in pans of cooking fat.
Jewels don't belong to any crown, under key, let them be,
Swinging free
Dipped in a porn star martini for the girl with a frozen frown.
Bass slurred words that know no blame
A whisper to his unchecked frame that all before are his to name.
The king of the star lit floor.
Mumbling through a slackened jaw.
The hungry dog now salivates at scraps left on a dinner plate
A picture in his cock tailed mind
Of joints wrapped up in cooking twine
And she's the dish it's in.
He jinks, he swerves, he beats his man, he slips inside and pulls out-
A plum. Undone.
His blue veined lolling oxen tongue.
Gallops on in blind half mast
Where baby steps now run too fast
Send him crashing to the floor
A tropicana club encore
Where drinks were never free.
The line was crossed the booby trapped
The wire tripped the picture snapped
A glazed and giggling gargoyle stare
Fixed frigid in the nigthclub air
And he is left quite undone.
Player one
Drowned in pixelated, coke-soaked rum.
Drawn,
Quartered and finally hung.
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