Trout

An Epic Poem

Kate & Mike

Part 11



Kate:   I don't much like
where this poem is a-going.
Talking willies just ain't my thing.
The personification
of mammorification
was bad enough
but boy does this suck.

What happened to the queen,
the king and the knight?
What happened to poetry?
Or even to Shite?
This isn't Shite,
It's not even shit,
It's horribly rude, Mike,
I'm offended by it!

Mike:   Well, bugger you, Kate!
It's time that you knew -
it's your stuff that blows
and mings like a poo.
Who the fuck told you
that you are a poet?
I hand you great rhymes
and you just go and blow it!
Why don't you take
all your ill written words
and flush them away
with your foul smelling turds.
I never liked your poems;
they just made me vomit.
I'd rather just go and
watch Wallace and Gromit.

Kate:   Well, bugger you then,
my arse in your face.
It's your rhyming couplets
that are the disgrace.
You can't write for toffee,
your poetry sucks,
not worthy of reading
or feeding to ducks.

I cannot abide this,
it drives me insane
to produce endless drivel
just to hear you complain.
It's not like your prose is,
romantic and roses.
Why can't you be happy
when my poetry's crappy?

Why can't you frolic
when my writings are bollocks?
And sing a fine ditty
when my proses are shitty?
Why don't you clap
when my rhyming is crap?
Take me to your heart
when my poetry blows like a fart.

 
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