After a prolonged absence, I could talk about life, I could update the events of 2016, I could discuss the ever collapsing political world, however I won’t. Instead, here’s a poem about assholes.

A fistful of assholes, by Mark Waddell

She’d woken up that morning

To find 

she was 

the 

proud owner

Of a fistful of assholes.
She could not remember 

where she had found them

Nor could she open her hand

To have a proper look.
Assholes were not attractive to her

But she knew they were there

Inside her clenched fingers.
She could feel them against her skin

Slippery

Pouting

Throbbing
She estimated there to be three assholes

Puckered

And alive
She was a mess now

And badly needed rid of them

Knowing them to be no good.
Running towards the lake

She stopped

And tried to force her fingers open

But the assholes

Struggled

Squirmed

And started

Making grunting noises

As her fist refused to budge.
She took an axe left by the woodcutter

And chopped her hand off

In one neat movement

Throwing it

Like a twisted Excalibur

In to the blue depths.
Three centuries later

An expedition from the Federation

Stumbled across the lake

Where a fistful of assholes

Rose slowly to the surface of the water.
As legend had it

Whoever has the strength

To prise open the hand

Would rule the world

Along

With

All

The other assholes.

———————-

Mark is a 50 year old poet who has lived in Hull, Glasgow & God knows where else over the years.

Now based in Kentish Town, he is my landlord, flatmate & friend. Like a poetic Buckowski, his gonzo attitude is both crazy and brilliant.

His debut book, “On the Cusp of Greatness” is available now in the Amazon Store and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Check it out today.

More to come from me soon. It’s good to be back.