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Rating: 3.2

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,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Dr Antony Theodore 04 August 2018

lovely poem dear poet. tony

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Susan Williams 04 August 2017

well.... uh.... the last line made me laugh- - -so did the comment by Robert Murray Smith below

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Kumarmani Mahakul 04 August 2017

Beautiful poem with stunning depiction. I appriciate it. (Report)

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Kumarmani Mahakul 04 August 2017

Beautiful poem with stunning deliction. I appriciate it.

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Bernard F. Asuncion 04 August 2017

A nice and awesome poem... Thank you so much...

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