She was really quite shocked and embarrassed
the first time that they were ‘In Her Pockets’.
She complied, rigidly, yet semi-respectfully,
answering their invasive questions,
in monotone, through gritted-teeth.
Then, seeing no negative reaction from me,
she blushed and gushed, as they drove off
“What must you think? I’m so sorry…
I swear, that normally never happens to me.”
The second ‘Stop and Search’ was half hour later
after exiting, smiling and holding hands,
our first ‘Moscow Mule’ Public House.
She wasn’t feeling coyness on this occasion
more aggravated, and kept repeating
“You’re starting to take the Piss, mate.”
The third and final ‘Up Against The Wall’
was soon after the Uppers had kicked-in,
and we were leaving the back beer garden
of good old Razorback’s Low-Life Tavern,
with a loose-pack of half-inebriated acquaintances.
Where her general demeanour and vocal exchange
was, what I would term, proper ‘Filth and Gutter’,
and she clocked-me a stunning temple-blow
with her flying mobile phone, whilst screaming
“Yuh, Film These Wankers, For Fuck Sake…
Just In Case They Cop A Sneaky Feel Of Me Tits!”