Who cares about poetry the once bitten cry,
Or who doesn’t remember that teacher,
Made to memorise Yeats, till the words
Stuck in your skull had pierced through your eye,
But my mother always said “once bitten twice shy”
While that teacher insisted six-hundred points or you die,
Game Over, das Leben ist kaputt, Listen boy, Listen boy
Anyway, who cares about poetry when it’s all a lie,
What’s special about rhyming words they ask
Or how many pages do we need to get an A in this task
Four, now read the words so they’ll stick, remember, last
But even the pain of torture fades after a while,
And dried ink is no use closed, lodged in a dusty pile
So who cares about poetry, if you’ve got a girlfriend on speed-dial
Or your mate just ordered a round of Guinnesses
And your only goal is not to be last to finish his
So who cares, I ask you? But don’t reply,
I cry,
Me, Myself, I.
© Fionn Kelvin Thomas 2019
