Harold Pinter


Message - Poem by Harold Pinter

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,
Take the lid off the kettle a couple of minutes,
Go on the town, burn someone to death,
Find another tart, giver her some hammer,
Live while you're young, until it palls,
Kick the first blind man you meet in the balls.

Anyway he'll call again.

I'll be back in time for tea.

Your loving mother.

Comments about Message by Harold Pinter

  • Susan Williams (8/4/2017 3:03:00 PM)

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

    1 person liked.
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  • Kumarmani Mahakul (8/4/2017 3:18:00 AM)

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

  • Kumarmani Mahakul (8/4/2017 1:54:00 AM)

    Beautiful poem with stunning deliction. I appriciate it. (Report) Reply

  • Bernard F. Asuncion (8/4/2017 1:15:00 AM)

    A nice and awesome poem... Thank you so much... (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: sometimes, mother, death, time

Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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