Cheri can’t wait for the shop to shut,
She’s been there since eight. Now she’s
Tired and her feet ache and there is an
Itch beneath her right *** where the cheap
Bra holds and she wants to urinate before
It’s too late. She stands by the door,
Holding it back, for a customer to leave,
Some old biddy who’s moaned and
Grumbled and tut-tutted all the while
There. Cheri doesn’t care; she’s dying
For a **** She pushes her knees tight
Together, cursing beneath her breath
The old biddy with her bags and moans.
She puts on her fake smile, but all the
While, her bladder’s weakening, the urge
To *** is taking hold. Now the old biddy
Has stopped to chat with some old dear
In a flowery hat. She knocks her knees
Together to distract from the urge to ***
Fact. She grips the handle of the door,
Hurry up, she says beneath her breath,
Or I’ll wet the floor. The old biddy nods
And agrees to the talking hag with the hat.
That’s it, Cheri senses; on top of that, she
Needs to **** She takes a deep breath and
Releases the handle of the door and runs
Through the shop, by the old biddy and
The talking hag with the flowery hat,
By the manageress with her rising brow,
Into the back, and somehow into the toilet,
Shutting the door, pushing underwear down
To the floor, she sits and pees and sighs and
***** Cheri doesn’t care if the shop’s busy
Or the customers moan; there comes a time
In a shop girl’s life when she needs to be
Alone, when she needs to contemplate on
Her life or loves or love affairs or getting
Married or when she’ll next have *** or
Not or if at all. Cheri can’t wait for the shop
To close, for the door to lock at six o’ clock.
She waits and sighs and closes her eyes and
Hears the inward tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 4:02 PM UTC
Cheri can’t wait for the shop to shut,
She’s been there since eight. Now she’s
Tired and her feet ache and there is an
Itch beneath her right *** where the cheap
Bra holds and she wants to urinate before
It’s too late. She stands by the door,
Holding it back, for a customer to leave,
Some old biddy who’s moaned and
Grumbled and tut-tutted all the while
There. Cheri doesn’t care; she’s dying
For a **** She pushes her knees tight
Together, cursing beneath her breath
The old biddy with her bags and moans.
She puts on her fake smile, but all the
While, her bladder’s weakening, the urge
To *** is taking hold. Now the old biddy
Has stopped to chat with some old dear
In a flowery hat. She knocks her knees
Together to distract from the urge to ***
Fact. She grips the handle of the door,
Hurry up, she says beneath her breath,
Or I’ll wet the floor. The old biddy nods
And agrees to the talking hag with the hat.
That’s it, Cheri senses; on top of that, she
Needs to **** She takes a deep breath and
Releases the handle of the door and runs
Through the shop, by the old biddy and
The talking hag with the flowery hat,
By the manageress with her rising brow,
Into the back, and somehow into the toilet,
Shutting the door, pushing underwear down
To the floor, she sits and pees and sighs and
***** Cheri doesn’t care if the shop’s busy
Or the customers moan; there comes a time
In a shop girl’s life when she needs to be
Alone, when she needs to contemplate on
Her life or loves or love affairs or getting
Married or when she’ll next have *** or
Not or if at all. Cheri can’t wait for the shop
To close, for the door to lock at six o’ clock.
She waits and sighs and closes her eyes and
Hears the inward tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
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