A Limerick
There once was a girl from Derry
(or, maybe not a girl, just the idea of a girl that lived in the idea of a town with the idea of a name that had ideas above it’s station)
Who took the Dover port ferry.
(And like any other picturesque scene, this one looks better in black and white. Black and white around a big greenish blackish sea, crashing about the fingers and other bare skin parts of the body)
She got what she paid for,
(though no money exchanged hands, of course, because she didn’t exist or understand the concept of money outside that one time she played monopoly with her dead father who was just a figment of your, already, fractured imagination)
loved and was laid more
(again and again and again until the concept of love and sex melted into one horrific nightmare she couldn’t help but repeat over and over like some freudian dream of the gift that keeps on giving)
than her mother all fucked up on sherry.
