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More poems by Harold PinterHarold Pinter | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Harold PinterBooks by Harold Pinter

Message

Harold Pinter

Jill. Fred phoned. He can't make tonight.
He said he'd call again, as soon as poss.
I said (on your behalf) OK, no sweat.
He said to tell you he was fine,
Only the crap, he said, you know, it sticks,
The crap you have to fight.
You're sometimes nothing but a walking shithouse.

I was well acquainted with the pong myself,
I told him, and I counselled calm.
Don't let the fuckers get you down,
Take the lid off the kettle a couple of minutes,
Go on the town, burn someone to death,
Find another tart, giver her some hammer,
Live while you're young, until it palls,
Kick the first blind man you meet in the balls.

Anyway he'll call again.

I'll be back in time for tea.

Your loving mother.

Added: 31 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 15 Dec 2018 9:17 AM | Viewed: 5082 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/541/ | Viewed on 15 December 2018.
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