This May Day dressed herself as hag,
And when she came,rained down unseasonal cold upon
Street barbies, brought murder to a bungalow door.
They lie together on the tarmac now,
Lukewarm in blood-specked macs.
A nan and granddad both cut down,
They could not make it farther than their drive.
Saved by the maniac’s gun from afternoon regrets,
From nursing fees, thick-whiskered lips.
Trips to the garden centre, trousers that stretch,
Saved from their final, catastrophic sex.