At first, they hated Gerald Crich.

With his swagger and hair
Coiffed in a crystalline wave
Gerald was one of a type.
And the girls tapped
Clitter-clatter to dance attendance
For his liking.

I fancied myself wiser:
No pink confection, I -
All tits and teeth and
Cunning ankles
Cocked just so
For Mr Crich.

But now he catches me
By the chicken neck:
Hello, Gwendolyn
What a charmless dress.
This is repartee
I suppose.

What hell-mouth spewed forth
This bloodless man
Who would whurl me dizzy
Without a third thought
For my nerves?
My flesh thread nerves.

We both hear the snap
Of a thousand garters
On a thousand floors
He will break me
Brittle as china
On the parlour table.