Thursday 26 November 2009

#30 - Why I Can't Accept Your Friend Request

We are too alike, you and I,
like Hitler and

Mecha-Hitler - allied in ideology
yet destined to fight

and believe you me there are those who would
egg us on, slapping coshes or lit sticks of dynamite

into our callused palms, hissing:
'He said you eat bellends on toast. He called your mum

the Blowjob Queen,' into our eager ears.
I don't want that. I know

you don't either. The chanting, sweaty circle,
the Korean bookies with their chalkboards

and prodigious memories. I do not want to have to
stay my hand as a hundred gargoyled spectators yell:

'Kill! Kill! Kill!' Your splintered nose; your pregnant wife,
wracked and anxious, waiting for the big purse.

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