A girl walked up to the cashpoint
Those of you who read my books will know that I fall in love every day, and have done ever since puberty. Hopelessly, all-consumingly in love. The kind of love where you’re walking along minding your own business and wham, beauty comes out of nowhere and smacks you in the kisser. It could be a beautiful pair of eyes. It often is. Or a heart-breaking smile. It could just as easily be a swan-like neck or pair of shoulders, or a set of ankles only god or Rodin could have put on a woman. Or, in the case of today, a traffic-stopping body in a clingy dress. Here’s what happened to me when I took a walk into town at lunchtime and fell catastrophically in love with a girl I saw at the Sainsbury’s cashpoint, who I never saw before in my life, never spoke to, and will more than likely never see again for the rest of my born days. She exited my existence as abruptly as she entered, blazing incandescently for those few brief moments in my life. I don’t think I even glimpsed her face. All I saw was her ass, and I was gone. Mesmerised, like a gawping zombie. I fell in love with an ass. By the time I’d walked back to work I’d written this poem about her. It. Here it is.
Cash crisis
I walked into town at lunchtime
For a bit of exercise
As I passed by Sainsbury’s
A girl walked up to the cashpoint
She had this amazing figure
Packed into a tight clingy dress
That gathered at her knees
All whomping thighs and buttocks and
Heavy calves peeking out underneath
I didn’t need any cash
My wallet was rammed
But I felt myself drawn to the ATM
By her powerful gravitational pull
Like a helpless planet tugged down
Toward the Sun
I stood behind her
For a few brief seconds
Sucking in the air she exhaled
Exchanging invisible atoms
With the electrons her body gave off
Then she withdrew her card
Took her cash
And disappeared into the store
by 