Punanis, Peckers and Poems

 

Written with Mike Anthony

  

There's no uncomfortable silence

They never think ‘shut up’
They never get moist when they talk smut

She can fart and burp

And he's never disturbed

And she doesn't frown at his vulgar words

Because hers are generally worse.
No subject taboo

Despite her attempts

Describing in detail

Her diarrhoea attack

He gets her back

By recalling

A boil he once had on his ball sack.
She says his feet are stinky and they are burning her eyes

Whilst she talks about getting kinky with some guy.

She gives him batteries for his remote control

From her plastic partner, he’s told

And they're pretty old
She gives him four for free

But they're so dead they won't work the TV
He smiles because the gesture was actually pretty sweet.

She wears conservative pyjamas made of flannel

She’s got plenty of long legged pairs but they are tight

She hoiked them up once to avoid flashing him her belly

Her resultant camel’s foot was, by his admission

An unfortunate sight.
He repays her Thai green curry

With an amazing chilli

They listen to Steve Earle

And she discusses her love for her last shag’s willy

She asks if he thinks she was a drunken prize

‘Proabably.

But if you are he’s a fool’ he repies.

Then it’s her turn to advise

On how to dump his fuck buddy

In a way that won’t hurt her

And they laugh at how he’s gone off her

Because she’s a squirter.

There's no mistake she's a mate with soul

But she's not a soul mate
He'll keep her warm when she sleeps

And when the weathers bleak

But they don't share the same bed sheets
They live their lives in peace with ease

Because the chemical connections have never seeped

He sees that she is fit

But does not want to ride her

She sees that he is gorgeous

But doesn’t want him inside her

They see something special in each other

But not as a lover

They don’t share genes

But he feels like a brother.

They talk about the past

Drink to the bottom of the glass

But she never tweaks his nips

And he never squeezes her ass
Because you can't have your sister touching your schlong
That shit’s just wrong.
There’s a comfort that’s sought,

Nothing’s complicated

Arsing about aside,

There’s shared pasts they’ve related

Different routes to their scribing

That created a similar result

Both guilty of anger issues

Fuelled by things that weren’t their fault

Devil’s child tales and weird behaviour

Make them laugh on reflection

Pushing a pram full of bricks

And being scared of a dog’s erection.

She rolls in proud at 11am

Smelling of sex but happy

He high fives her

Then makes her a cup of tea
They drink together

But never from the furry cup
And she'll always get an honest answer

When she asks how she looks.

At the end each day
They don't touch lips with a kiss

He touches a fist with his sis’

Because the friendship they share is a gift
The perfect portrait of mates

They sit, speak and drink but it'll never be a date
A respite from intimate relationships

With no pressure to please

And no promises to break.