Bring on the Stags

  NaPoWriMo day eleven and here’s poem number ten. In last year’s NaPoWriMo I wrote a poem about hen weekends called Here Come the Hens. I thought this time round I do a matching piece about Stag weekends. I don’t know if these are purely British phenomenons, I suspect not, but we get quite a few of both in my home town of Birmingham. I’ve added the first poem at the end so that you can view the pair of them together in all their glory. Hope you like them. I’m quite pleased with them…

Bring on the Stags

Bring on the stags,

bring on the stags.

Butting and rutting

and strut, strut, strutting.

Sweaty face on sweaty face,

Vindaloo leaking

from every pore,

they jeer and leer

in hormonal frenzy

as the hens cluck by.

Primped and preened

shirt sleeved, shirt off,

Jägerbombed and blasted

they grunt and grind

to their totemic anthem

“Lager, lager, lager.”

C’mon, c’maaan,

bring on the stags.

Here Come the Hens

Here come the hens,

here come the hens.

High heels clack, clack, clacking

in time to the rhythm of suitcases

stuffed with slogan t-shirts and pink tutus

rumbling like trains on tracks

towards budget hotels.

The clink, clink, clinking

of cheap vodka bottles

stashed in oversized handbags

waiting to be downed in plastic cups

whilst piling on the slap

in readiness for a night of thrills.

An undercurrent

of heightened arousal simmers,

eager to pop like champagne,

in anticipation of the weekend’s fun.

Make way, make way

here come the hens.


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