Rat Trap Rap, Part 1 of 2
I crossed the yard
two-thirds awake,
intent upon
that coffee break:
young teacher hunk,
one tall, cool stud
(before the Night,
before the Flood,
before the Flight
of all that’s good,
before the Blight
brought down the Wood,
and damned spare tyres
dammed up the Gush),
I waded through
the schoolgirl crush.
Two slinky babes,
real dinky girls,
all legs and lips
and kinky curls
said “Come upstairs,
hang out with us:
we’ve got some ****
we could discuss.”
You think me stupid?
Yes, indeed-o.
They led me upstairs
by the libido.
With limbs so nimble,
movements fleet,
they steered me to
the science suite.
We pushed ajar
the green lab door,
and they weren’t smiling
any more.
They wanted me
to case the joint.
They’d brought me here
to make a point,
for Tippy Hedren
and Lee Remick
had drawn me in
for pure polemic.
That sterile world
of steel and glass:
that ingrained smell
of Bunsen gas!
You’d keep away
from high school labs
if you’d seen what
was on those slabs.
Copyright © Michael Coy | Year Posted 2017
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