Were there but an ounce of humour in this wretched soul of mine
It would howl in pure derision at this current party line
That a human’s not a human ‘til he’s exited the womb;
For his and his dear mother’s sake we furnish him a tomb.

But then a tomb is far too personal, a wasteful show of pain,
So just dump him in a bucket and then pour him down the drain.
You refuse our most magnanimous permission to now praise
Our superior compassion and enlightened human ways?

How callous and intolerant! Now hang your head in shame
At your hatred of a woman’s right to indulge passion’s flame!
Be silent in our presence! We know all about your kind,
Just ignore the shears and vacuum as we open up your mind.

What Forgetful Brothers Do

This year I managed to do the following to both my brother and my sister, so I wrote this by way of apology:

What Forgetful Brothers Do

They mean to call you on your birthday,
They find they can’t get through,
Then what happens next
Is what forgetful brothers do:

‘I’ll email them tomorrow’,
They decide, and so they ought
But when tomorrow comes around,
Life’s crowded out the thought. Continue reading