Contains descriptions that may be distressing
She stumbles out of bars
onto the Bigg Market & Pudding Chare,
into the sleety rain, headlights of cars
pissed as a fart, without a care
singing in the rain, boy don’t call me Angel
keep your name out my mouth
spewing in Grainger Town on the cobble.
A dark wind from the north
hands pushing her down
blood and tears, dirty town.
She relieves the nightmare
in the police interview
in the rape suite stare
a sick & twisted Groundhog Day, the view
in the court room, judge & jury
court clerks, solicitors, barristers.
She relives her rape, step by step; the jiggery-pokery.
The body is an orifice; what, went, where.
The body is a vessel of pain and shame
The body is liquid evidence of blame.
First published in Under The Radar
What happens when the media itself becomes part of the problem? Who holds it to account? 14 years after the Leveson Inquiry reported its findings, has anything really changed? And how can we build something better?
Join Bylines Network on Wednesday 21 October, for a vital conversation about the media Britain needs — and what it will take to get there.
The event will conclude with a live audience Q&A.
