only we
had the tickets
to get into a Butthole Surfers
gig
after some idiot in the NME
had put it out that tickets
would be on the door that night
a huge crowd had gathered
outside the venue
and
there wasn’t a single ticket
valid
except ours
pushing through a tight body
of disgruntled and jealous rise
of sudden knowing
we had what they
really
really fucking wanted
at that moment
some bouncer
called out if anyone
had tickets
and like two timid school swots
in a class of basic maths
we held up our hands
tickets on show
for all to see
for every stupid
believer who came to see
the gods on show
me and Hannah
were the golden hoard
the mountains in our hands
most sacred temple chamber
where only the chosen
are called to tread
the unnameable steps
as shoulders tighten
against the passage
we push our water
into the spaces between force
once inside the gig
5 minutes of being
pushed and punched
bruised, tit grabbed, cunt felt
arse groped by every boy
dressed in black
in the mosh-pit
we decided to retire to the upper
circle and feel each other’s cunts
while the Surfers played every tune
of theirs
we ever loved
