A poem about biros.

Releasing some steam! I wrote a poem about Biros, the little penny bastards.

I’m fucking sick of finding biros

they’re everywhere I look

they’re stuck in mugs lost down the couch in every single nook

I don’t know where they fucking come from I never write things down

and yet when someone phones me up there’s never one around

I can’t ever use the hoover

without one going up the tube

and then I have to dig around

in fluff and crumbs and pubes

half of them don’t even work

they’ve gone completely dry

just chuck them in the fucking bin

I think I’m going to cry

why would anybody keep a fifteen year old Bic

chewed to bits gone all opaque it makes me fucking sick

we’re in the year 2010 we can remember simple facts

type it in a fucking iphone sync it with your Mac

we don’t need the fucking biro

the wasteful inky twat

it’s in the way, it’s obsolete and that is fucking that.