The Ballad of the Pink Gin

There she was.
Venus as a gin.
Pink and glistening
like the elixir
of ambivalence.
That feeling you get…
when the frets
have stretched your
worried head,
and you need
an alcohol
anaesthesia.

She slipped into
my trolley.
All regal and
queenlike.
Not like the
proletariat breadloaf,
or the lower caste
regurgitated chicken roll.
She protested as
she slipped into
her carrier bag,
but I’m not paying
for elaborate horse drawn
carriages from the likes
of Tesco.

Try carrying 6 bags
of shopping on a bus,
so, I called a cab
to carry us,
my pink gin love
and I.
But you wouldn’t expect
to lose a friend
so soon
after bonding.
And manslaughter charges
don’t apply to
alcoholic beverages.
But our love lay
shattered. Crucified.
In shards of broken glass
dreams, and
pools of wanton
aspirations.

The taxi guy,
he pleaded guilty,
but I don’t like to
see people sad
and watching his regret
made me feel bad.
I want for nothing, really.
I don’t need his
sixteen pound fifty,
when he earns a pittance
and feeds a family.
Might be his gas money
for the week,
and I know from his eyes
he is sorry to his skeleton
and remorseful to
his guilty heart.

I hope the Tesco cleaners
gave my love a
regal funeral,
and there will be a lot
of merry birds
on Gallagher Retail Park
today!

Sarah Drury 2021

The Diet

The diet

Lettuce
Lettuce and tomato
Lettuce and tomato and cucumber
OOO, will I go all exotic and have a bit of couscous?
Do I want salad cream with that?
Mmmmm cream
Screw the salad bit
BUT I am beginning to look like
a giant marshmallow on steroids
With my belly that touches my knees
and my butt that says “OH PURLEEEEASE!”
SO

Lettuce
Lettuce and tomato
Lettuce and tomato and cucumber
OOO, shall I splash out and have some dressing with that?
Dressing
Depressing
Squeezing myself into death-wish dresses
Like a Zeppelin in a condom
Like a blamanche in clingfilm
Suffocating asthmatics
to a plus sized death
SO

Lettuce
Lettuce and tomato
Lettuce and tomato and cucumber
OOO, Will I live dangerously and have a bit of beetroot?
OOO, beetroot
The colour of my cheeks when I
get on the scales
Or the gang of teenage girls
snigger in their size 10 knock off Nike trackies
And I want to scream
“I was a skinny tart too, once!”
Or the tsunami when I dive into the pool
and cause a few fatalities
SO

Lettuce
Lettuce and tomato
Lettuce and tomato and cucumber
OOO that cake looks tempting
the chocolate is moist
and so am I
God, I’m bloody starving!
Just one bite…
Just another slice…
Oh, I’ve stuffed the whole cake!

Lettuce
Lettuce and tomato
Lettuce and tomato and cucumber
And KFC
And McDonald’s
And Pizza Hut
And Mandarin Palace
And Bombay delights
And

Big knickers
Big tits
Big me
Again

©2020 Sarah Drury

Yoga

I have only tried Yoga once, but it went something like this….

I have a golden Buddha
and he spoke to me
He thought it time
I broaden my spirituality
So, I vowed to go to a yoga class

Well I walked into the room
and there were twenty women
with their attitudes crass
and their notions of privilege
and pretentious class
And I knew all along
they were eyeing up
my fat ass
in all its lycra glory

I knew Buddha would’ve been
very disappointed
in these women
Who think they
have been appointed
the right to hold
their prejudice
in their judgmental minds
Where are the
spiritual tenets of
being generous, being kind?
Being human?

Flexibility is not my strong point
I can’t get my leg behind my ear
I daren’t do that for fear
I would fart
or split my pants
If they want me to do
the eight angle Astavakrasana
I haven’t got
a fucking chance
I’m more a reclining
sort of person

I don’t think my can of Pepsi
went down too well
For them it was some sort
of sugary hell
With their bottles
of Aqua Vitae
and their sorry snacks
Ecologically friendly
cardboard packs
Full of calorie hate
Poncey quinoa
Apricots and dates
And I may as well have
pulled a coronary out of
my bag when
I took out my
Mars Bar

I’ve said to Buddha
Yoga’s not for me
I will meditate
I will become a fucking tree
I was getting so bloody
irate
at the pretension
I couldn’t cope with the
amount of negative attention
I was getting as a
‘Fat bitch’
So I left

Maybe I will try quinoa though…

©2020 Sarah Drury

Sixteen Stone Food Porn

I am that
sixteen stone woman
about whom
doctors waxed
all lyrical
BMI through the
confectionary roof
It’s definitely a miracle
that

calories
taste so good
on my orgasmic lips
Fuck that Shakira
and her never lying hips
we’re talking Mr Whippy
here and
not pink fruit tea sips
And my clothes say
NO!!
but my poor self image
slips
another Mars Bar
in my gob

Apart from chocolate
heaven hell starvation
My mirror says
“put your fucking
glasses on”
My stomach
Cries “damnation”
And denies
it’s been involved in
the gastric augmentation
Of my gut

My body is a feast
of gastronomic gluttony
It’s sad when screwing food
is my primary fantasy
I get panty gusset wet
at the thought of
fresh whipped cream
And I would love to see
if chocolate cake could
screw me
like wet dreams
Laying spread eagled
A top the bed
feasting on ice cream
Vagazzle dazzle showing
Glinting blatant and obscene
Flicking V’s at
the fat shamers
the health proclaimers
calorie savers
Hit that tongue, Jack
the oven’s on
and there’s no going back
For a spoon

©2020 Sarah Drury

Mother is a Hustler

My mother
Would be Virgin Mary
If she had blue robes
And a school nativity baby Jesus
And a halo
Half price
From the dressing up section
In Tesco
And on her age worn face
Is always worn a smile
As valuable as the Mona Lisa
With NHS teeth

She has no notions of grandeur
And no one is beneath her
Her kindness knows no perimeters
And if Jesus
Had been wandering
Our beaten tracks
He would’ve been
Out of a job
And signing on
At the DWP

She serves burgers
For the big Maccy D’s
Tomato ketchup with a side
Of joy on your cholesterol fries
It gets her knees
But living off her pension
Gets her pocket
And eBay is so addictive

She plays the saints
At their game
She was dealt a shitty hand
But holds those cards
Like a seasoned hustler
And when her time comes
I know she’ll
Be showing God
The true meaning
Of love

©2020 Sarah Drury