POEM: Wet Knickers Aren’t Always a Good Thing




Dear sanitary ads with liquids blue

You wring them out, wing them out and proclaim your truth

*

We are surfing and skating

Smiling white with hair tossed back,

Not doubled up, cramping and hating

*

My sanitary pad won’t wring out blue

My tampon won’t absorb a glass full

As your adverts claim they do

*

I’m in Pizza Express with my white dress stained

A patch on the seat, face red

And knickers tinted

*

Diners are horrified at the spillage from my thighs

I‘ll have to fake a red wine stain

To take the judgement from their eyes

"EXCUSE ME WAITER, CAN YOU MOP UP THE MERLOT?”

*

Always Ultra lied to me,

Tampax blagged and truth defiled me

Maxi size with mini action

*
Anyway, why won’t these towels stay stuck my knickers,

yet they yank out mi pubes like an Immac wax stripper?

*

Why don’t my roller boots ease my pain;

like the smiley faced girls in white jeans with no crimson stains?

*

Their skin shines bright when sunlight glistens,

But I have spots breaking out like protesting prisoners

*

Please advertise the dark reality

of our ‘Here’s Johnny’ anger and disdain as we bleed

*

Our sanitary towels  should have a duvet tog

13.5 thickness to contain the scarlet clogs,

pretty heart patterns cannot contain our scarlet tide

*

Keep your wring out, wing-out blue lies away from me,

and your cotton thread plug up dishonesty,

*

I await my menopausal release from this demon,

replaced by a fiery hell of hot flushes with a lingering hope of blood drip freedom

*

Then we move on to Tenna’s easing our zip wire worries,

as we dance clad in Lycra as a carnival scurries

*
When will this dry knicker pressure retreat?

If I cough, laugh or sneeze I get piss soaked feet

*

My kids don’t say sorry for my vaginal dysfunction

When they emerged selfishly through my pelvic floor junction

*

My incontinence pad debt is entirely their fault

As their heads are to blame for my bin bag revolt

*

Does this insight make you feel awkward?

Am revealing way too much?

Well brace yourself my lovely , the next verse is about thrush

*

Cotton knickers are essential, yonken yoghurt on ya moo

Then cranberry juice to soothe the itch,

it’s like a fucking smoothie’s curing you

*

I think I’ll trade in my vagina, and replace it with a sponge

It’ll have its own built in absorbency to mop up weird secreted gunge

*

My hormones are reducing now,

and blood loss has me pooped

I will end my PMT poetry about how us women have been duped

  © Emma Seasman
09/05/2018
Image Copyright Chris Seasman

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