Freaky Fish & the Stench of Rotting Meat

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I could smell it a mile away. The stench. It reeked. A purple suit jacket couldn’t distract my nasal passages, any more than the blue arse flies circling around my eggs bene and an old English breakfast. A seedy but not too bad cafe on Sandringham Road.

My submission was a waste of time and money in the end. His slobbering tongue may as well have slid around the inside of my mouth, probing for fishy morsels when he should have been licking the egg yolk, about to dribble from the corner of his. But there will be no saving the 1970’s retro tie from yet another polka dot stain.
I’m sure he could smell it too. My hot, pulsating wet pussy, soiling my knickers over the prospect of having my culinary words eaten out of context. It stinks. There is nothing quite like the smell of rotting meat to make a woman feel heavenly – retch! It cracks me up every time I regurgitate.
/
It was all business and no pleasure. A typical overcast Auckland day in the middle of winter, but it still didn’t stop him adjusting his oversized proportion trying it on for size. That would be a clichè, if he were unable to stop drooling over my salmon.
The damage is done. A lingering malaise assuming everyone thinks I suck. All it took was a piece of meat and all the fingering fucked me over. No conspiracy theory this time, just a stench and salmonella in my mouth.
/
Nazis were a problem.

I should have taken them all out.

© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Messy

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The Mariners Tale

Home7

“Land Ahoy!”

his First Mate
not more than two feet away, still doesn’t see Hinemoana coming.

“Bring her about hard & fast
& shut your bloody mouth boy!”
after the full force
hits the stern with a swift kick
aimed right up the Jacksie!

she giggles

it’s an entertaining Port
full of surprises, guffaws
& sudden gusts of wind;
her Devil’s Tongue
quick as lightning
her Siren Song
slipping in & under

he lays it on thick

he would feed me grapes
if it weren’t for the Oyster’s
Swordfish, Tuna, Salmon & Lumpfish, a good bottle of Veuve serving up a concoction of frivolity with a sharp spank on the arse for good measure.

No sea legs required here.

Our naked flamboyance
barely creates a ripple,
our island paradise
looking out over the sea
from a safe distance –
your bridge.

I can see the stars up there
& planets
my world seems bigger
brighter
I stare transfixed into space
but I am not lost
I feel strangely nestled

Green Tree Frogs
& the hope of a Vine snake or two
keep my curiosity peaked

Michael rows
his boat ashore

I am not unlike an island

© Copyright 2013, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

REBLOGGED on Dream Big Dream Often