I like those 'adult' magazines
the narrow-minded find obscene,
dismissing them perverse or cheap
but even so still take a peek,
and lick their disapproving lips
and search with greasy fingertips.
But not for me professional girls,
those models with peroxide roots,
tight-buttocked, nipples hard as pearls.
Those veterans of a thousand shoots
are fine, but no are not my thing,
preferring flesh to sag and swing;
imagination firmly lies
in the motives of those 'Readers' wives'.
What makes them pose and tease and flout
when 'hubby' gets his camera out?
Those reckless girls must have no cares
to hoover naked on the stairs,
or legs behind their heads on swings
they have a go at anything.
Stop! Stop! you filthy wretch I say,
that well could be my Auntie May.
How brazen must these women be
to show themselves so shamelessly?
Where do they find the confidence
to stand astride the garden fence
adorned in nothing, save a smile?
I know not... but I like their style.
Possessing less than perfect frames,
appearing by fictitious names,
these 'ordinary' women show
they don't care if the neighbors know!
"Oh publish and be damned" they say;
.. "Oooh here's one of me on holiday".
by Stephen Hirons
Read the story behind this poem
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