~
final words on athlete’s foot ( toof s’etelhta no sdrtow lanif )
…
i thought you were
an urban myth
like potholing
or lichtenstein
until your spores settled
in between my toes
my polished oak toes
beneath my wooden legs
the doctor said
‘impossible’
the bishop tried
to exorcise
& yet you grew
& reddened then
a crimson shade
of blistered skin
scaling in places
like a lovely old toad
she of whiffy socks
feeding on the phantom jam
itches in the night
whispered then – i love you
oh, how i believed
until i learnt of others
with the same infection
– you’d been sleeping around
so i chainsawed
the limbs below me bellend
apart in foot & heart
you linger where the head is
you fungal fucking whore
mrs. tinea pedis
…
resarf poetry 