Yesterday I was walking along the Taff River Embankment in Cardiff when these delights of nature flew by. As you may know I enjoy writing about flowers, but my subject matter does also extend to fruit, meat, and animals. Which were these? I hardly know. But as the arguments for individual rights to earn a living flew in with the recent Page Three malarkey, these flew out. Over and above all other considerations, Page Three objectifies women’s bodies. It really isn’t that difficult a concept to grasp. Anyway, here’s a poem I wrote about the paper I saw yesterday, as well as a photo of it. Irony alert ahead! I hope you enjoy.



Yesterday when out walking

I saw a pair of tits.


This is not a double entendre.


Yes, whilst out walking yesterday

a couple of tits flew by.

Not the blue or bearded kind


but the pink and perkily nippled.


Two tits flitting

about near the river.


Two snapped paps

flapping wings

in the wind.


They landed and I took a photo

of the photo. I wondered,

would they sing?


But the tits of course

were voiceless, the girl who

owned them nameless, the body

they belonged to headless

thanks to a papery crease.


Not that that mattered, of course.


Despite their lack of identity

the tits seemed happy, excited.

Their look was up-for-it

and very, very playful.


But soon they flew up from the grass

and continued on their journey,

wild and strong and free,


so glad they weren’t wrapping

fish and chips, or some other


menial task.

Find out more about Mab Jones here:

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