The Karaoke Queen’s Survival Kit
lived in the stationery cupboard,
back office of the education block
in a plastic crowned H.M.P. bag
smelling of old roses and cheap perfumes.
Your cosmetic lucky-dip,
our remnant offerings: foundations, eye shadows
mascaras and blushers, glosses and lipsticks -
oh, those lipsticks - your street-walking,
pay-for-your-wrap, keep-the-pimp-off-your-back
red.
Your cock-sucking, lip-syncing, Amy Winehouse
sing-like-a-demon, I told you I was trouble,
you know that I’m no good
pink.
Morning movement over
classroom doors pulled to
you crossed the central area
like a child alone in the playground
and mouthed at the office window
Can I? Can I Miss?

Avril Joy

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Avril Joy  would be pleased to hear them.