A poem about biros.
Releasing some steam! I wrote a poem about Biros, the little penny bastards.
I’m fucking sick of finding biros
they’re everywhere I look
they’re stuck in mugs lost down the couch in every single nook
I don’t know where they fucking come from I never write things down
and yet when someone phones me up there’s never one around
I can’t ever use the hoover
without one going up the tube
and then I have to dig around
in fluff and crumbs and pubes
half of them don’t even work
they’ve gone completely dry
just chuck them in the fucking bin
I think I’m going to cry
why would anybody keep a fifteen year old Bic
chewed to bits gone all opaque it makes me fucking sick
we’re in the year 2010 we can remember simple facts
type it in a fucking iphone sync it with your Mac
we don’t need the fucking biro
the wasteful inky twat
it’s in the way, it’s obsolete and that is fucking that.