A Season on Stage

Windkempt, whoosh! And on you rush
In punk-pink, with spray-on
Splash of icy green,
And shower me with beech-bud wrappers.
Your backing-group belt out
Cross-riffs from the wings.

Your light-show’s dazzle-yellow,
Comes in thumps and flashes,
Wears the favours of your hero
Who looks down from the fly-floor
Prompting: “Go on, face your fans!”

You make me feel like nettle,
Dressing real sharp,
My tie-pin’s got to be
Gaudy tortoiseshell,
You take me near to swooning
At your perfume, what a stink!
Wood hyacinth, you say?
Poser, you mean bluebell
So come off it, girl,
You’re way, way over
The top.

Summer after you’s
A dead-cert flop.