~

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

…