Poem 303 – Bastard

You bastard.
You utter bastard.
How I hate you, you total bastard.
God, I want to rip out your bastardly eyes
And feed them to your bastard dogs
You bastard. Did you not think,
Bastard, that I might realise what you’d done?
You bastard, did you think that I was stupid,
Bastardising my trust with all those bastard things you did
(you bastard)
To me?

***

Dear readers,

Apologies for anybody who finds this too offensive – it is a rare occasion to find so many swear words in anything I write. Indeed, I would not normally have published something so… fruity, except for two things I like about this poem. Firstly, how different it sounds when read in different tones – try reading it angrily, then formally like a lawyer, then jocularly. It is worth noting that in my social background, ‘bastard’ can both be a terrible insult and a tone of great endearment, because Britain. Secondly, when read as it stands, the breaking of the, uh, motif in the final line is something I find beautiful.

Kind regards,

The Hapless Neo-Romantic.

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