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Her Knickers

Her Knickers

gust on a carousel, revolve in Summer sun
as she kals to her mam on her doorstep.

Blown me nose on more material.
says her mam. Cheese-wire me arse.

They’re comfy, mam. ‘sides
lads like ’em.

Off you mean. When they’ve
got it on ’em.

Both snort in laughter.

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Published in Open Arts Forum on .

Selected by Jordan Trethewey·
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Paul Brookes