The Audience Poem is Pants…
It really is. The topic had to be ‘something – what are you like?’ There were three suggestions: pants, cardigans and factories. They chose pants. Here’s what they came up with. The set title, Pants – what are you like? Was superseded by a slip of paper simply offering ‘Title Suggestion: PANT RANT’…
Pant Rant
Pants are like unborn dusters
Pants always come out of the washing machine in clusters
Big girls’ kidney warmers
American trousers and really no good
Pants are like pretty lacy obstructors
Tablecloth Tundra with viscose velocity
Big, baggy, beautiful barrier bolstering bravado
Small/large, rose/rancid, black/white, mine or yours
Pants – the cello string of the chilly sadist
Private penile protectors
Brief breaths
Elasticated not masticated trajectory that’s next to me, threadbare on the chair, not worn
Fancy and frilly and flattering to see…
If only, if only they had been smaller and tighter…
My reinforced ‘Y’ brace protectors, keep me confident in those difficult moments
Lace-edged loiterers of the lingerie drawer
The breeze from the softly beating wings of fifteen angels
Genital developing, Paxman enveloping
They are like… slightly sagging, greyly gripping, slowly slipping, libido clipping, passion killers!
Wonderwear
Hats for wide-eared bats
Pants – I’m not wearing any – can you guess who I am?
From the knickerbockers to the thong – a thongabocker is the thang
Pants – what are you like – up, down on, off in a flash, fawning, poking, stoking, smoking, steaming, lusting, leering out from beneath a lonesome belly button, searching, seeking, most times peeking out at what’s not available
Lucky, tacky, cheesy, slack
Tonga, Sloggi, boxers, thwack
Pants, what are you like?
Crumpled in the corner, lost to lust, and split.
They are moody, go up and down, that’s what they are like
Cheeky, freaky, squeaky clean or crusty
Pants on the washing line, showing off its dance routine – not very modest!
She slid her buttocks between those dark satanic mills
Pants – twin carburetta leg funnels.
Pants – empowering for Superman, but it doesn’t work for me
Why shouldn’t you wear Russian underpants?
Because Chernobyl fall-out!
There you have it.This pants poem was taped together, in the latter part of the interval, under improbable circumstances, by Roz, aka Beryl the Feral, from line submitted by the audience (see photo).