Walking on toothpicks
is a little like walking on cliché eggshells
or the broken glass of Annie Lennox.
Except one gets splinters in one's metaphorical foot
when one walks on toothpicks.
In reality and outside word-smithing
we just tiptoe through the minefields
of the living room and kitchen.
Change the channel and start WW3,
make oneself a brew and Hitler in comparison
becomes a saint of Austrian choirboys with Jewish parents.
The proportion of hate apportioned is exponential
to the square root of selfish.
"you could have made us a cuppa you lazy bastard"
they whine as they sit on their fat arses in unison.
Staring you down in the Harvey's
adverts on Coronation Street, they ask
"Get us a Kitkat from the shops love.
Put the kids to bed love.
Wash the pots love.
Walk the dog love."
"No!" I scream.
"What's wrong?" they ask mutedly.
"You don't fucking live here" I reply.
My neighbour gives me the key to next door;
"That's okay love, go turn the heating on and makes us a cuppa".
is a little like walking on cliché eggshells
or the broken glass of Annie Lennox.
Except one gets splinters in one's metaphorical foot
when one walks on toothpicks.
In reality and outside word-smithing
we just tiptoe through the minefields
of the living room and kitchen.
Change the channel and start WW3,
make oneself a brew and Hitler in comparison
becomes a saint of Austrian choirboys with Jewish parents.
The proportion of hate apportioned is exponential
to the square root of selfish.
"you could have made us a cuppa you lazy bastard"
they whine as they sit on their fat arses in unison.
Staring you down in the Harvey's
adverts on Coronation Street, they ask
"Get us a Kitkat from the shops love.
Put the kids to bed love.
Wash the pots love.
Walk the dog love."
"No!" I scream.
"What's wrong?" they ask mutedly.
"You don't fucking live here" I reply.
My neighbour gives me the key to next door;
"That's okay love, go turn the heating on and makes us a cuppa".