THE FROGMORE POETRY PRIZE 2010

Ruth Hill

 ... AND NOT A TRACE OF BASS OR BASS

Oh, boogly-eyed hip hop
I long to see you
with edible legs and eyes like pegs
I long to touch your slimy behind
and find your pulse among the dulse
to catch you mid-air with that wide-eyed stare
to hear you sing with that bagpipe thing
to let you bask in my basque pocket
and watch that eye turn in its socket
to lay you back and rub you slack
gitchee goo goo paralyzing you
to sing and croak and sling my cloak
to scare and stare and put you back
I had that same wide-eyed stare
the first time you teased me with that squeeze
I squealed, ‘Don’t pee on me, please!’
And what be riveting, your eyes or your cries?
O Gitche Gumee, come right to me
Here I am... I’m not a heron...
Spring-loaded Jack-in-a-Box
now you’ve made me lose my socks, my skirt is torn
my basset hound will find your basset horn
my bare feet will thwart your warts
O goggled pollywog of Ogdamemnagog
I long to see you
You rogue of river
Brogue of river
Monologue of river
on a log of river
Baroque
Baroque...

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