MY PROTECTORS

[dazb]

(triggered by Ragger's last post)

MY PROTECTORS

I was told that you would help me
Be my protectors in fact
Guide me through my newness
With your strength and support.
That, if I gave you respect
It would be repaid twofold.
You would help me stand proud.
In my march through life
Show me how to kneel in respect
When situations required my lowliness,
How to bow without scraping.
That you would ease hurtful blows
Created by the neglect of others
Deflecting the very stones of wrath.
I believed all this, once
But now in calloused experience
I can truly say that I detest you
I dread your very existence
I want no part of you
I want you as no part of me,
New pit boots, I hate you.

[dazb]

BOOTS, HAT AND PADS

When we were new and first together
Along with my boots of dimpled leather,
I loved you both, I was proud to parade you
Tried the cap square and in style askew
Wasn’t a lot with the boots to choose
Wear em tight or simply loose
But a single shift showed which was right
Never again anyway other than tight.


You both took pleasure in breaking me in
Steel toe caps boots carved up my skin.
Became magnetised to stone and rail,
Found every pothole as if by Braille.
But over time I gained your control
The painful hobble becoming a stroll
Over the years you did your job
Initial agony reduced to a throb.


Black shiny helmet so easy to wear
Until a lamp you were given to bear
Highlighting your swivelling potential
And one handed retention became essential.
Adjustment finally cured the flopping
Or was it my ears that became a stopping.
Your true value realised pretty quick
When you not my skull got the very first nick.


Kneepads, bloody kneepads, what can I say
The first time of wearing you made my day
And every day after that you managed to ruin
I suspect you knew just what you were doing.
Protecting the patella but stopping the blood
Retaining water when dragged through mud.
But finally saved as God’s own gift
With orgasmic removal at the end of the shift.

[Ragger]

I hate new pit boots Daz

Pit Boots.


New pit boots; oh! What a thought,
Relief from them is what I sought.
Tried lots of grease to make them give,
But with new boots I could not live.

The leather I tried to Manipulate,
My feet were in an atrocious state.
To the hammer I confidently turned,
And hit them hard; no good I learned

Blisters were coming all over my feet,
Looking like lumps of fresh raw meat.
Just above the ankle was really sore,
Rubbing my skin more, more, and more.

No longer could I endure this eternal pain,
Drastic action was needed that much was plain.
Out came my knife from its place on my belt,
Then I sliced up my boots till relief I felt.

What would I give to have my old boots back?
Which were well broke in; with many a crack.
They served me so well for many a year,
But were dropping to bits, that much was clear.

‘There’s not much protection’ the deputy said,
‘And the toe-caps are missing’, shaking his head.
‘Throw them straight into the rubbish bin’,
‘And get new boots’, he said with an impish grin.

For weeks I cursed that deputy’s words,
My feet in such pain; like walking on swords.
Please God make these boots last forever more,
They did; they sacked us, showed us the door.

Note.
(Be careful what you pray for, your prayers may be answered).