Student Night

Student Night

Its student night down in Man Poly bar,
A girl with clothes no bigger than
a postage stamp with the queen in horror,
at these wanton bitches who’ve gone too far.
A girl with a skirt that skirts the definition
Of skirt, silk knickers on full display.
A sheer blouse makes excuses for a bra,
Breasts that plea for the light of day.
Standing to attention in a military style,
Enticing the trouser soldiers to come out and play.
Face painted, cheeks tainted, warpaint regime,
Slapped on, plastered, L’Oreal.
Lipstick staining, snogtime training,
Spider lashes, face from Hell.
Hair on point, that perfect barnet,
Hairspray choking, asthma killer.
Student starving, money all gone,
‘Cos she paid for a titjob and botox filler.

The lad is lairy, beer filled, cheery,
Looking for a shag if he digs for gold.
Using, musing, cruising for a bruising’,
Waiting for tequila shots to take their hold.
Long hair, short hair, alternative or goth,
Parading his affiliation on the heavin’ dancefloor.
Big boys, small boys, good boys, bad boys,
A label doesn’t matter when you know the score.

The drink flows freely like a river of oblivion,
Pints are necked and class doesn’t matter.
Snakebite, shots and dodgy cocktails,
Wallets getting slimmer and the tills getting fatter.
And volume doesn’t count when you’re trying to get laid,
Though you better love your pecker if you’re going for the latter.

Their bodies writhing to the pulsing beat
Heaving, breathing, seductive moves.
Girl watching boy watching girl watching him,
Trying to get some intimacy in between the grooves.
And a hand that gets too friendly and a girl who stands her ground,
And an incident that in reality is hard to prove.

And the night is getting older and the noise is getting louder,
And the joy is getting manic and the anger getting frantic,
And the boy is getting desperate for a screw for the night,
And the girl just wants a moment where her life could be romantic.
And I know these stereotypes are a little bit sexist
But these were long gone times and the craic was fantastic.

And she thinks of student nights and she thinks back very fondly,
She thinks how irresponsible they all could be.
But a good drink, a good shag, a good time had by all,
And she never had it better, ‘never did any harm to me’.
And the memories caress her like the times that she scored,
and the laughs and the tears and the comradery.
The nights she lost at Man Poly Uni.
In the days when she played and her conscience was free.

The girl in the Black Fur Coat

Smile as wide as a sunset in the Grand Canyon,
Split from side to side like a sacrificial lamb.
Lips as red as two blood soaked rosebuds,
Smiling like a maniac and she doesn’t give a damn.
For she’s riding the wave of a high, goddam.

Eyes as bright as diamonds freshly mined and polished,
Sparkling like crystals reflecting sparks of purity.
Pupils wide, lashes like spiders in bitumen jackets,
Windows to the soul, to the heart of this lunacy,
Wearing the label of madness so well, so beautifully.

Black fur coat glistening in the light of the morning,
Though not real fur as that would be a subject taboo.
Sheen, shining, inky black softness adorning,
Someone else’s second hand castoff, can’t afford new,
Oxfam bargain, Help the Aged? She hasn’t got a clue.

Beneath the fur the flesh of nubile youth invites
The promise of sensuous moments, fleeting thrills.
Young flesh tainted by the smite of madness,
You take your chance, you screw the girl, fuck to her ills.
She parades her vulnerability like a murderer kills.

Her words, her smile, her ringing laughter, painting over
Sea worn driftwood sanity, eroded by waves of quick mind tricks.
Seeking out the thrills for the hell of it,
Drawing in the exploitative wankers and insensitive pricks.
Drawing in those who should have known better than to get their kicks.

And her fine black coat, with the beautiful sensation
Of soft, warm kisses upon her un-worshipped skin,
Like a kitten wearing the magnificent coat of a lion,
The only protection her vulnerability knows,
The only protection from the users and the abusers forcing their way in.
Like the pelt of a blood hungry trophy hunter, his senseless kill a win.

She is a giver, and she gives too much too often,
she sells her soul for a few moments of false affection.
She gives and she gives, and she gives and she gives,
And she casts aside her lying, crying coat of protection.
Her mind and heart are dying from another cruel dejection.

The doors are locked again, another grey, banal day
And the nurses and doctors are characters in a hospital drama.
The psychiatrist has sentenced her to another cocktail of drugs,
And the screaming all around her and the pain and the trauma.
She’s yelling for her daddy and crying for her mamma.

And the coat of many men is abandoned on the floor,
The cherry lips are wiped away like blood pouring down a drain,
The spark of a girl in the throes of joy has been smashed into a memory,
The heart of an innocent is protected once again.
And the girl is taking another fucking trip on the lithium train.

An end to the mental anguish and pain.
And end to the pleasures of a screwed up brain.

© Sarah Drury 2019

Hello! There’s a poet in the house!

Hi, My names is Sarah and I am a poet based in Lincolnshire, UK. I love to write. I spend half my life thinking about what I’m going to write and half my life writing it. I also love to write and perform poetry for spoken word and perform regularly at open mic nights, in Hull and in my hometown. See the ‘Speak Out Scunny’ page for more details.

I have bipolar disorder and I’m pretty sure this fires a lot of my creativity and drive. Especially in the manic phases! I’ve written a book about my experiences with mental illness called the Same Game, Link is in the menu. I spent years in psychiatric hospitals during my late twenties and early thirties. The last seven years have been a lot more settled although I do suffer from anxiety and panic attacks.

I have two other books which are devoted to poetry. One is called Is Anybody Normal and is about the gritty realities of life and of being a woman. The other is called Smile and is a collection of bipolar poetry.

The link to my author page is http://author.to/sarahdruryauthor. There, you can buy my books from Amazon.