Saira Viola

Head Honcho


Suzie Q : Honey eyed bikini leather girl

The flashing pussy of revolution

she wore French open toed stilettos in the shower

and every Thursday baked artisanal cookies for the


Boomshakalaka ! Boom! Boom!

Her hips swayed left to right

and when the rain bounced off the cleft of her butt

the whole world stood up or at least the front row

of working stiffs in the subway car.

She narrowed her eyes and left her giggle on

a passing billboard .

Crossing her long bronzed legs she

winked at a sober suited lawyer.


Noisy brash voice hard Republican eyes

he leered as if she were a piece of prime

real estate ready to be bought flipped and sold over.

Arrogant puffy cheeked  man bragging about his

holiday home in The Hamptons

and the price of grass fed beef

so idyllic.

The hairs in his nose salted grey

jangling his hot rod keys he wanted

everyone to know he was a SOMEBODY.

All Suzie could see was a piggy pig pig in

dirty pants and penny tan loafers.

She yawned smudging her mascara

He stepped closer

so close she could smell

his crooked middle class waxed anus

when he whispered:

‘Aren’t you a naughty girrrrrrrrrrl?’

‘You sound like flaccid Mike.’ He moved back .Red faced contempt .

‘And you’re a bitch.’

‘Le chien femme ? Really ! That’s all you got ?’

Through gnashing teeth

‘You winked at me.’

‘So what ? Now you own me ?’

‘I thought we had a …’

‘A what ? A moment in the sweaty armpit of a subway commute ?

Foaming with anger spittle frosting  his moustached mouth.

‘Easy bitch.’

She blew him a faux air born kiss

and sidled up to a blonde sharp cheeked athletic type .

He watched her with murderous eyes

as she ran her fingers playfully on the other man’s face

Teasing looks and  cell  numbers were exchanged.

At the next stop she got off

and so did ‘Flaccid Mike.’

Suzie , sweet slut succumbing to the red lipped mouth of midnight

primed and ready for action.

Clip clop .  Clip clop. Heel screech-

the flies in the wall listening to every beat .

As she climbed the  grubby piss washed stairs

teetering on her feet

‘Flaccid Mike,’ crept slowly behind her

Silent Sith .

Brooklyn dust on the sidewalk  glinting  pink  with


beads -colonising every

exit and every turn

Chugging smog make emaciated  throats burn .

He grabbed her neck peach blossom soft

and squeezed until her lungs became thickened

with his bloody deed.

Pinned down- butterfly breaths

fluttering on broken bone Suzie Q

drifting drifting  .

She was so proud of her window box flowers

and  her butterscotch cookies  for the homeless.



Taco Bell Suicide

The soft – eyed neighbour told

me to forgive and ignore

and I got lost in the wiggery

of  legal arguments, I watched skilled

orators  preach on the poverty of

opportunities denied to an armed

rapist who threw acid on his

victim’s face : “Your Honour he grew

up with vandals and thugs

and murderous crows –

not his fault he was born in a

womb of hate he maims

with a purist’s distaste of the

female  form and freely feeds on

her slaughter . And in fairness your honour  she

was  precocious a  temptress -nymphet –

scarlet lipped Lolita .”

The Judge sniffed  shuffling

the papers on his big grand desk

he thumbed through graphic stills

of the teenage victim and in a hoarse,

slanted preachy voice : “ I agree with the defence in this

case , the young girl was giving out mixed signals

she wore a black  backless dress and silver pump heels

she hinted to him that sex was in the air . It’s regrettable

it ended this way but frankly this man is not a monster and not too blame.”

One month later :  Red Top Headline

Teenage Rape Victim Found Dead in Taco Bell car park :Apparent Suicide



Champagne Lap Dance With Baudelaire
Shah Jahan autographed
the Taj Mahal
and dead beetle wings
sit in yesterday’s ash tray
She got an emoji
telling her it was over
The   light that shines on
the sagging  cheeks   of her face
is feeble -choked by a curtain of grey
She was free in her dream
smooth -toned ballet limbed
black -honey sweet
She shimmied all over Baudelaire
Babbled about Parisian  jazz dudes
and plaited  his grape coloured  hair
Death was sunning himself on a leather arm chair
He watched the champagne bubbles cork the air
his long face shadowing her heart
She heard sparrows in the trash can
but never woke up.


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