The Woman who Listed her Womb on AirBnb, by Scott Redmond

The room isn’t the roomiest,
The space not the most spacious,
Completely devoid of natural light,
And yet, no-one says no,
It’s warm and it’s cosy,
It feels safe, and alright, it’s affordable, homely,
Minimalist, yet extraordinary,
Nothing fancy, and yet one of the most breathtaking structures you will ever see,
That’s what they say about the woman who listed her womb on AirBnb.

The rules are strict but fair,
No guests, no pets, no smoking,
The neighbours are lovely though, and the food provided
Nutritious, in just the right way.
The stays are limited, nine months at a time,
Any longer and it feels claustrophobic,
Any less and you’ll feel you just didn’t make the most of it,
The view is day dependent, but you’ll see what you see,
That’s what they say about the woman who listed her womb on AirBnb.

The reviews are glowing, never less than five stars
‘I wish I was a Christian, so I could be born again and again and again’,
Said one.
‘I have never slept better, felt more rested, and more ready for the world,
The ambient soundtrack, the soft breaths, and gentle heartbeat,
Helped me doze off like nothing has since’
The host so caring,
The feng shui so daring,
Not a lot of fresh air,
But you make do,
Maybe just big enough to fit two,
But more would be pushing it,
And the indoor pool was lovely until suddenly drained,
If you ask me,
That’s what they say about the woman who listed her womb on AirBnb.

It’s a once in a lifetime experience,
Like the softest pillow fort ever built,
You’ll never stay anywhere like it again,
That’s what they say about the woman who listed her womb on AirBnb.

The Dental Arts Studio by Scott Redmond

Old fashioned dentistry is so old fashioned,
To a traditional dentist I would never go,
Boho teeth deserve boho treatment,
So I signed up to the Dental Arts Studio.

The artist with his brushes beside him,
Some with toothpaste, some with paint,
Mostly whites of different hues, some off-whites breaching yellows,
To accurately mimic coffee stains.
Molding molars with reckless, clayless abandon,
Looking for new insights into incisors,
A newly qualified orthodontist stopped by with a CV,
But didn’t include a professional portfolio, so they despise her.
My mouth is their blank canvas,
When I yawn it is an artwork that I show,
I just needed a filling,
But got framed braces, down at the Dental Arts Studio.

I took a more conservative approach,
I opted for something reminiscing the Dutch realists,
My mate went for something more Picasso, we think they’re still teeth,
Just somehow less so.
And spare a thought for for old Danny, who finds it hard to eat his onion bhaji,
Now with teeth inspired by Dali.
Melting mouths are all the rage, they say,
But I’m not sure if I believe them,
So they threw away my original specs,
And I’m damned if I can retrieve them.
Perhaps this is why the Mona Lisa never smiles,
Teeth just not an artist’s’ forte,
And I wish that the super rich would stop bidding on my jaw,
I’d rather not have it taken away.
I’d rather not have to retrieve it from the Tate,
Whenever I would like to chew,
Is that why Munch was screaming?
Is there something lacking in his mouth that we never knew?
I’m glad that they do not do face lifts,
There’s only so absurdist my face can go,
But they want to display my new canines,
At the Dental Arts Studio.

It’s an experience I’ll always remember,
It’s something I’ll never forget,
For it’ll be with me wherever I go,
Reminded in each bite of baget,
For in exchange for a princely sum,
A chunk of change it hurt to let go,
My artist cum dentist left his signature on my lower gum.
At the Dental Arts Studio.

Lesbian Flotation Aids by Scott Redmond

San Franciscan bookstore

Invited me invitingly to the aisle marked ‘used lesbian fiction’,

‘Used lesbian fiction’.

‘Used’. ‘Lesbian’. ‘Fiction’.


Does it mean novels and prose of lesbians who had been used?
And if so, what had they been used for?
Were they made to run on treadmills to power our banks?

Or as flotation aids for amputee otters,

Or perhaps they were used as emergency scarecrows?

Probably not.



It meant used in a much deeper, more oblique way,

Like used up, like chewed up, like spat out.

Beaten up by a world of discrimination, looks out of the side of the eyes

                                                            Of strangers

                                                            When hands are held in public.

By remarks of ‘oh, which one are you, the butch or the femme?’

At dinner parties up and down the social strata,

By pay gaps, and fights for marriage and cries of sins,

Perhaps the lesbians in these fictions were just used up by the world.

Or perhaps,

They are just books that have been owned before.


But if the books are at all accurate,

It’s probably both.

Just not the otter thing,

I don’t think.