Clean Shirt, Slut Face

A fantastic bit of graffiti on an electricity box by my old flat in Norwich–just a cursive tag, which read “Clean Shirt….slut face”.  I thought it had promise for a poemet.  Sadly, I didn’t get a photo of the graffiti

Clean shirt, Slut Face

Right kit, wrong race

Never thought to stay in place

Morals dragging over dirt

Never doubt that she’ll be hurt

Nobody knows, who’s under those

Clothes

Empty pose

And Money flows.

The punter’s curt

Those dances weren’t

For him, pervert!

A sickening glean

Too often seen

Staring down that clean

Shirt, there’s lace, but then those

eyes, too wise, tawdry grace

Slut Face.