Come To Sunny Prestatyn
Laughed the girl on the poster,
Kneeling up on the sand  
In tautened white satin.  
Behind her, a hunk of coast, a
Hotel with palms
Seemed to expand from her thighs and  
Spread breast—lifting arms.
 
She was slapped up one day in March.  
A couple of weeks, and her face
Was snaggle—toothed and boss—eyed;  
Huge tits and a fissured crotch
Were scored well in, and the space  
Between her legs held scrawls
That set her fairly astride
A tuberous cock and balls
 
Autographed Titch Thomas, while  
Someone had used a knife
Or something to stab right through  
The moustached lips of her smile.  
She was too good for this life.  
Very soon, a great transverse tear  
Left only a hand and some blue.  
Now Fight Cancer is there.

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