The girl who looked like Catherine Parr
Tasty spit and a 90’s car,
Works in the library, concrete walls,
Asian persuasion cruising manor halls.
‘What is it like to wear that dress of hair?’
I typed my enquiry in.
‘I am the city poet
for that ginger old git,
and the secrets of your lunch
I can taste on your breath’.
There’s croquet during the day
In the eve, there’s Anne of Cleaves,
The jealous library assistant.
I made a crow’s nest, observing
The corners of her smile
That used to drive him wild,
The vicious old git.
Maybe I’d have fallen for Russian girl tsar
The ginger life won’t do it for me, Catherine Parr,
I go on walking behind the library trees
And by accident, I bump into Anne of Cleves.