So muffled in fluffety bobbles, balaclavas, mittens
Umbumbling the streeteys yellow and whitey
She comes like a wombling thing, a non-woman
A never-never on her lips, painted all scarlet and wonky
Is Gertie, so laugh-she.
Is heat. Is smell. Is so unpeeled and possible sectioning
She is crinkled and crusty and hopeless with handbags
15 radios all on the table, none working, she handles the wiring
Does no-neighbours, no-telling and squinting
When knocks at the door.
Under the cretonne and unfumbling curtains
Lives an old lizard carved out of bog oak
Jam sandwich, red letter from Energy
So cold bakeybeans.
Cats fighting for biscuits breed flies on the inside
Ringworm on leg-pieces, carboardy flitterings
Bitchbang on the ceiling for loudness
Sing God help the Queen.