3

Purver biked off into the night
and ended up in Lewes Court
to be himself he went whole hog
snouting Lewes public bog.
Luker's fat boyish purple face
describes cloaca vent of Plaice.

Scragg said arse not ass
hunched ancient suggested
our first evening
ten tremblers under hammer beams
the ghost of Saint Cuthman
walks sometimes but never
on the first night of term.

The nun an oak
fell on her room
impaling shaft,
Saint Cuthman cursed
when workers laughed
at him and barrowed Mum
where weeds still grew
and dreamers clung
the cold sweat melting
on their limbs.

Lights-out ignorant stories heat
our icy slits and captains at 18
walk up switch on the light
administer the
split broomstick against
the laundry basket where
Matron piled our yellow
sticky linen.

Paunched by cancer
cure Coates saw her
shriven face
at a window.
She found Butter’s bed
all wet one night
we'd done it they
came up, Butter's
soggy prepuce.