That Bird In My Hand Shat On Me

That Bird In My Hand Shat On Me.

He’s put the ‘Wolf’ amongst pigeons,
That fucking ‘Cunt’…
(and that ain’t no adjective,
It’s a pseudonym, simple and true).

I hate to call him a ‘Wolf’,
Or a ‘Hawk’ for that matter.
It symbolises a dignity he’d never,
Hope to smell for his own SHIT.

One would have expected the ‘Cunt’,
To show a little humility…
Instead he ‘Teabags’ us,
As we lay prone from his last strike.

Dips his balls in our mouth,
As we snore and gurgle, try to sleep.
One further humiliation,
To add to the growing list.

He’s gone and got me pissed.
So much so I’ve forgotten,
Poetic technique, and all I care about,
Is getting my anger across…