Wednesday, 18 July 2012


The following poem is taken from my forthcoming collection, The Goose Fancier's Almanac, published by Rita's Vanity Press Ltd.


You think you can break me, don't you?
Well get this:

You can't.

You can break my car and break my bike,
You can break my yellow Fisher Price trike,
You can break my paper and break my pens,
You can break my cockerel and break my hens,
You can break my library card and my bus pass,
You can break my commemorative Batman glass,
You can break my apples and break my pears,
You can break my drainpipes and break my flares,
You can break my windows and break my doors,
You can even break my Filipino whores,
You can break my guns and break my coke,
You can break my Imperial Leather bath soak,
You can break my legs and break my nose,
Break my arms and break my toes,
Break my face and break my ribs,
Break my knees, shins, tibs and fibs,
You can break all that, but can't you see,
The one thing you can't break is me.

Although really, if you'd broken my legs, nose, arms, toes, face, ribs, knees, shins, tibs and fibs, that would be me, wouldn't it? Oh well, I sold my delete key to pay for my drug habit, so I can't go changing it now.


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