The nihilism girls are out in force tonight,

enjoying the first glimpses of the

warm summer nights. Looking good

in their tight leggings and mid-riff

baring tops, hanging about near the

corner shop, smoking fags and talking

too fast at all the lads as they walk past.

 

When I was at school it was cool to

drink too, but these girls are skipping

the martini and sipping super-strength

lager of the variety that cracks open and

empties middle-aged men, fries them like

eggs and leaves them alone, spewing

and broken in sheltered accommodation.

 

These girls are pretty, young and strong –  

but sooner or later, their skin will ripen

and shrivel like peaches left near a

radiator, and those sublime bodies and

minds will be a half-recalled memory

in an addled brain, long past its sell-by

date and pissed down a drain.

 

This isn’t a criticism, or condemnation,

or anything other than an observation;

it’s not my place to state what’s

shameful. They’re just there, and

I think someone should notice them,

laughing and shouting as they casually

throw away something beautiful.