Her prized pink nose is fatty as an almond,
Yet it hardly hides the bone,
Allowing it to snap as giddily as a wafer.
As she races traffic, the waving flags turn the
Blinding white of a hot gun barrel.

What audacity's in that self-expression
But begging to be recalled beyond a crumpled chassis;
What power’s in the craft of self-destruction
Debased by something as soft as sympathy?
Her redemption and own enlightenment only
Lives through mockery. A natural disaster is her name

For impotence, a gripping horror;
Inexorably image-perverting, like
The ashes of the ******* ancient in Pompeii –
There are no do-overs for dumb *****.

“Don’t make fun of my night out.”