Ant Smith

All poems

Mofo

Tobacco strands lie lose upon
My lap and iPhone screen
Ash falls languidly upon
My bent and crooked knees

Coffee cools in paper cup
My elbow soaks the drippings up
Dog shit on the pavement lays
Beneath my tapping foot

People think that I look like
I'm about to spit
Perhaps maybe, perhaps they're right
I've had enough of fucking this

Your breath reeks, your tears burn
Your sweat makes my stomach churn
Your spit splatters like pigeon shit
Your piss constantly drips, drips, drips

Your snot crusted nose covers scabies scabs
You scratch as though you’ve got a dose of crabs
Your love congeals upon impact
You low down worthless fucking twat

Your twisted features seem to drip
Your grim red line, teeth sucking lips
Your cheeks flap each time you grunt
Your face looks like my mother’s cunt