No Hope for Chope
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I fancied some titilating photos
   so I went on an upskirting hunt
I didn't really care about consent,
   that's if I'm being blunt
I came across Sir Christopher
   and thought I'd have a punt
I'd capture a peek of his private parts,
   I'd chortle and I'd grunt
It seemed to me a great idea, 
   a harmless and witty stunt
But what was the image my camera showed?
   A big, wet, swollen, vulgar affront

 

This poem was published on Poetry24 on 19 June 2018.