As we all know, poetry is for ponces. Even worse: posh ponces. Bleurgh. Fuck off. Etc. What I've done here is given poetry a downtrodden, masculine edge, by writing about two subjects close to the hearts of downtrodden, masculine people. Namely, job interviews and cab drivers. If you're scratching your head and saying, "Hang on, really?" then I'm afraid you're a posh ponce too. Sorry, "my son," but them's the breaks.
Stay tuned after these two poems for a deadly trio of one-liners.
Interview Suit Blues
Wore a suit to a job interview last week.
Nice cut; looked almost Italian,
Like Zen off the TV.
Matching belt and shoes,
I'd really gone all out,
Cufflinks with my shirt!
But what a fool was I...
From the moment I arrived,
I knew I was horribly,
Horribly overdressed.
You see, I'd worn a suit
To interview for the job
Of lifeguard
On a nudist beach.
(Incidentally, I can't even swim.)
Ode To An Angry Cabbie
The angry cabbie races by,
Shaking his wanker's fist.
The revellers respond with a chip fork salute -
Ironic of course.
The cabbie wishes he had chips.
He should have stopped off earlier.
He's going south of the river;
No chips there this time of night.
Beady eyes peering through fuzzy dice,
He knows his whole predicament
Speaks of something larger.
What a shame
His peasized right-wing brain
Can't work out what.
And as promised, said trio.
1. Bath salts? Bath assaults, more like.
2. "Sophistiliterature?" No, thought Bertrand, definitely not a real word. Fucking shame, though...
3. "Stone the crows!" chuckled Russell. The mob complied.
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