Hustlin’ The Harpsicord by Paul Tristram

Tis the ‘Groupies’ which keep you warm of an evening.
Except, on those extremely rare occasions
when their husbands and masters
are not playing dice, cards
or off shunting a scullery maid or kitchen wench.
These frilly cuffs are an absolute nightmare
to dance and pound the wooden keys with.
I ripped the left sleeve completely off,
with my teeth, right up to the elbow
several nights ago in a brandy and claret nihilistic fury.
The powdered wig puts the lice to sleep,
but, the satin pantaloons play havoc
with the sweat-rash between my crotch and arsehole
making it burn and itch like a tuppenny bitch.
Luckily, I’ve got my syphilitic cock
dangling outside of the ‘Fall Front’, AaaahhH.
It’s young Jane’s ‘Coming Out’ party
and there’s a five guinea wager
on who’s dose of the pox
she’s carrying around come the morrow?
‘It Must Be Mine’ he mantras inside his noggin
as he winks and mixes a snarl with a smirk at the ladies.
‘Besides, it was me who gave it to her mother,
grandmother, older sister and all three cousins…
My God, that was indeed a most spectacular weekend.’

black derby

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope at You can also read his poems and stories here!


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