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GODDEN, Salena

It Isn’t Punk to Seek Permission

Because if we had just one hour in your sun

We’d show you how it’s done

We’d show you how quickly things can turn around

Go on, give us one hour in your sun

And watch us bloom a field of colour

Look, look how our labours blossom

Look how we flourish with no sun, no heat or warmth

Because we know how to make love grow in the frost

In the hard dirt, in the winter underground

We make magic mushroom from shit

And spin gold from flakes of hard life

Our hunger is bears, our thirst we share

No boots, no armour, nothing but love drives this

And love is where this comes from and

Love is who this is for and love knows

We have nothing but each other to protect this

No gloves, bare hands, no certainties

And no money, no, never any money

So go on, I dare you, and I dare it

Give us a go on your sun and watch how we’d share it

Give us a paddle in your sunlight, a splash of shiny-shiny

One hour of the sun that is fixed on you and your privilege

For look how strong we are and how tall we can already stand

Without your sun, without your gold and

Without your permission.

Courage is a Muscle

Courage is the muscle

we use when we speak,

if we’re being talked over

and told we’re too weak.

And when we get weary

and when it gets tough,

it’s our united courage says

Enough is enough.

Courage is the muscle

we work night and day,

to get equal rights

to get equal pay.

Our blood is taxed

our blood is shame,

our courage unites us

for we all bleed the same.

Courage is the muscle

we flex when we must,

courage is the muscle

for truth and for trust.

Courage is the muscle

we use when we speak,

if we’re being walked over

and told we’re too weak.

And when we get weary

we march side by side,

100 years, we’re still marching

with courage and with pride.

The Saturday Shift
He was in the pub every day;

we watched his sallow deterioration.

He was swollen-bellied and cold all summer,

a stale perfume of decay,

like a snappy threadbare dog.

But we were used to him, we loved him in our way,

and the fireplace is empty and strange

without him standing there now.

Cervical Smear

Open your legs, poke your inner flower.

That’s it, lady. Did you bathe or shower

before you came to surgery today?

Looks like you should have, shall we say.

Now see these metal razor-sharp utensils,

As wide as sellotape around one hundred and fifty pencils.

Now, that’s to clamp you like a car jack.

Just relax, lie on your back.

Ooh, lady! You are a wide one.

Have you had children or just a good run?

Let me shove in this splintered wood,

ram it in carelessly, oh you are good.

Now breathe slowly while I insert

some broken glass covered in dirt,

and twist and spring catch it wide,

with fourteen mirrors and spoons inside.

There you go, slip back into your clothes.

I place my glasses on my nose.

You’ll have the results in a few days.

Try to use lube and not mayonnaise.

Now, what exactly seemed to be the trouble?

A little itch? That’s your shaving stubble.

Now, take the Pill until you’re forty.

See you then, if you’re not naughty.

Next patient please, nurse, there’s a sweet,

As I mop Vaseline off my plastic sheet

and sterilise my razor-sharp sticks of lead.

Hello lady, hello lady, hop on the bed.