For the first time in Blake knows when, I wrote a poem. A bit rough round the edges. Full story here.
Underhound
The people are ghastly and so is the heat
As my tired bum slumps down on a chewing-gummed seat.
No I don't want to chat, you preposterous twat.
Get lost and piss off and begone.
Let me be with my pain on this hideous train.
But do wake me up if a dog gets on.
As my tired bum slumps down on a chewing-gummed seat.
No I don't want to chat, you preposterous twat.
Get lost and piss off and begone.
Let me be with my pain on this hideous train.
But do wake me up if a dog gets on.
A couple start snogging and a man sniffs his feet.
I need to survive this till Liverpool Street.
I know shutting my eyes will not minimise
The arseholey-armpitty pong.
I'm securing my space with my sleeping bitch face.
But, yeah, wake me up if a dog gets on.
I need to survive this till Liverpool Street.
I know shutting my eyes will not minimise
The arseholey-armpitty pong.
I'm securing my space with my sleeping bitch face.
But, yeah, wake me up if a dog gets on.
My colleagues are morons, my job is a bore
And the thick prat in Pret served me decaf once more.
So why should I talk to a simpering dork?
Fuck you and the horse you're upon.
My earbuds are in to create my own din.
But please wake me up if a dog gets on.
And the thick prat in Pret served me decaf once more.
So why should I talk to a simpering dork?
Fuck you and the horse you're upon.
My earbuds are in to create my own din.
But please wake me up if a dog gets on.
--Tim Footman, Sept 2016
