If you want justice
let it be demon justice
that puts salt on the tails
of the goody good.
For the sins of omission,
for leaving things out,
not even a suspicion
of John Thomas about —
not even an inkling
that Lady Jane
is quietly twinkling
up the lane —
not even a hint
that a pretty bottom
has a gay little glint
quite apart from Sodom —
that you and I
were both begotten
when our parents felt spry
beneath the cotton —
that the face is not only
the mind’s index,
but also the comely
shy flower of sex —
that a woman is always
a gate to the flood,
that a man is forever
a column of blood —
for these most vital
things omitted,
now make requital
and get acquitted.
Now bend you down
to demon justice,
and take sixty slashes
across your rusties.
Then with a sore
arse perhaps you’ll remember
not quite to ignore
the jolly little member.