Attendant Needs

The man who cleans the ladies’ toilet
Tries to stay invisible
Knowing he’s unwelcome, and
His job is somehow risible

An overflowing bin too ripe
With gravid, bloody stink
The stains that form behind the pipe
The vomit in the sink

The woman who mops out the gents’
Is handy with her fists
As banging on the cubicles
Helps lovers to resist

Temptations of a toilet dweller
Keen to wet their beak
With sins of flesh on offer
Even seasoned will’s too weak

Where users of facilities
One tries hard to forget
Don’t pass too close, as ill at ease
Our bladders we regret

And silent in our tinklings
Groans and grunts are magnified
Graffiti grows in sprinklings
Where we defecate inside

The Flower of Womanhood

I am well and truly over
This annoying, messy phase
Where I daren’t wear pale fabrics
And I shower thrice a day

All protective products pointless
As it oozes t’ward my feet
I awake to pools of gruesome
Craving sleep without red sheets

When my skin feels slick and shiny
With more oil than fries a bird
I anticipate resignedly
Soon the flag will be unfurled

I shall suffer through the heatwave
Of my ovaries in bloom
As they fire off a salvo
Twinges presaging the gloom

Days of darkness, swathed in layers
Extra undies in my bag
At each trickling sensation
Quick! Hi-tail it to the lav’

To expunge in corporate bathroom
All the evidence of gore
I ignore my bio function
Still, my womb knows what it’s for

With the monthly mad reminder
That just living hurts like hell
As my tender flesh needs kinder
Treatment than it gets; oh well.

From the first time I encountered
This botanical event
In my leotard and dance tights
Feeling put upon and spent

To the day I see my organs
Ripped hysterically from me
Doctor’s orders and direction
Leaving nothing more to see

I must buy, gift-wrapped in plastic
Wads of cotton, scented ‘pure’
Knowing no tidy blue fluids spilled
From beakers will ensure

Any comfort, fresh or dryness
As I waddle through the day
Too resentful, bloody, mindless
Forcing cervix to obey

Hope another piece of plastic
In my battered, spattered jeans
May exceed historic precedent
Protecting seat and seams

But the flower swells within me
And it cannot be denied
I’m a woman, well and truly
Scrubbing gussets ’til I die

PMT

It always starts small
As it keeps a low profile
Not noticed at all
In the seasonal crossfire

Then builds to a hum
Ringing soft in the ears
Inner monologue numb
Overcoming all fears

With a perfectly rational
Obvious overture –
Bite stupid people
And chew on the furniture

But just a little
The day is still young
In the earliest stages
It almost seems fun

The lockjaw of anger
Is yet to appear
So we seem sympathetic
Attractive, sincere

That base urge to maim
To draw blood and salt tears
Is but hours away
But we needn’t warn peers

From the unfeeling hordes
That besiege and beset one
We’ll find one to gnaw
As we taunt and upset them

Destroy inner balance
And harmony too
As our hideous hormones
Are trying to do

Until all resolution
Is quite overcome
With extremes and confusion
Becoming the norm

When confronted with
Any adversity – woe
Betide anyone near
That we see as a foe

Insensitive, careless
And boorish demands
Mean our sensitive system
Gets quite out of hand

But the terrible power
To hurt and abuse
Only really kicks in
When we’re lost and confused

When all possible outlets
Exhausted have been
And a valve must be found
So we let off some steam

Easing tension untold
Yes the terrible pressure
Of hormones unfolds
As they grapple for treasure

An evil attempt
To subdue, to coerce,
Browbeat, hold and reduce
Overcome without mercy

Conditions of truce
Are unknown and unwanted
Our womb without use
By these phantoms is haunted

A logical Lucy
With well-ordered mind
I’ll-prepared for the chaos
Of this moon-fed time

Finds all is abandoned
Her measured, good sense
Thrown aside without caution
To sit on the fence

Catapulted to fight
All her foes in a ring
With a lack of compassion
Impaired understanding

Into truly irrational
Total submission
The perverse hysteria
Of her condition

External to those
That one normally finds
In her head is the battle
Of womb-versus-mind

At this juncture do note
There may yet be an end
If poor logical Lucy
Retains a true friend

For this is the point
At which fitness is known
Where the most passive partner
Comes into their own

In performing the service
For which they were born
They will soon prove their mettle
As golden or gone

For their duty is vital
Ensuring succession
That morn follows midnight
As goes the expression

The future of man
Hangs on one technicality
Failure to meet it
May cause a fatality

Yet it’s simplicity
If one is willing
While women are sane
To apply ears and listen

For in an emergency
Nowhere to turn
Strong familiarity
Is a great boon

And longevity may be
More certain assured
If the man is familiar
With Lucy’s hoard

For the hidden location
Of chocolatey stash
May prevent the sensation
Of grab, twist and smash

So I’m sure you’re delighted
I’ll give you a clue
Check the tin by the cooker
The rest’s up to you