Poem #2,804 | You Gobby Tiktok Prick
I do not want to die now
in Uckfield – it is already
a ghost town – haunting
is half-felt prick-teasing
for long brain-dead – As
each month passes they
bury ‘nother body under
rubber mortuary sheets
[dead won’t sweat] – I’ll
not be buried in my suit
under spoilt local soils –
By God – kids can talk –
I am pint-locked in a bar
[in Lewes] with a Gen-Z
mouthing off to his gang
of hear-purposed mates
[gathered for his voice] –
he is influencing – Christ
I am sick of this shite – A
death in Lewes preferred
at this moment – shut up
[you gobby Tiktok prick!]