Our words may be too many or too few
May simply complicate, or simplify
I’d choose them carefully if I were you
One wonders what we want our words to do
Remove the speck from someone else’s eye?
Our words may be too many or too few
They vanish, most of them, into the blue
But ghosts remain to haunt us when we die
I’d choose them carefully if I were you
We speak for speaking’s sake, our egos spew
A constant stream of consciousness, and lie
Our words may be too many or too few
We patronise our children, to our crew
We speak in ciphers. Words are birds that fly
I’d choose them carefully if I were you
We fill the empty air with nothing new
Within our echo chambers hear our cry
Our words may be too many or too few
I’d choose them carefully if I were you
© Gail Foster 17th May 2023
Responsibility
Facebook Flirt
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There’s a voyeur in the foyer, and you let him in
No use complainin’ that he’s lookin’ at yer quim
When you’re the one who’s flashin’ as yer dancin’ in the dirt
With yer skirt tucked in yer knickers
Facebook Flirt
…
There’s a pervert in the pantry, and you let him in
Now he’s lurkin’ by the gherkins with a sinister grin
Yer buns were on the windowsill! Yer key was in the door!
Now who’s made a cock up
Facebook Whore
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© Gail Foster 9th September 2016
Racist Bloke
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I had a racist boyfriend once, we’ll call him ‘Racist Bloke’
I dealt with the whole ‘racist thing’ by making it a joke
I used to call him out on it, and then I just gave in
Discarding my morality like fag ends in the bin
“Never argue with a bigot” I would laugh, and make the tea
“I’m not a racist” he would say “it’s witty parody”
It just got worse and worse, until we couldn’t watch the news
“Dirty Muslims this,” he’d say, “those filthy effing Jews”
I’d leave the telly off in case the sight of one black face
Would flush his chain and cause him to start ranting about race
And start blaming all the women who had ever given birth
In the dry and deadly desert, for the failings of the earth
He’d read up on the history of Jews throughout the ages
(it took him quite a while as there were quite a lot of pages)
Liked to rant about the Rothschilds, thought he’d got me with their riches
Expecting me to then agree that Jewish girls were bitches
“Women” he would say, “just shouldn’t have to wear the veil”
As if veil equalled jihad equalled every Muslim male
He was bad enough when sober, but when drunk it was profound
He’d be pissing venom down the pub like urine on the ground
He’d reduce a room to silence, and could empty out a bar
With his verbal racist violence, going further than too far
And then he’d order curry, oh he liked a bit of that
“Hey, did you know Mohammed was from some dark clot begat”
He would say as he was waiting for his naam bread and his bhaji
Like some hungry little Hitler rocking ‘rat arsed and Faragey’
It was painful, and embarrassing, it filled me with dismay
It was always, it was everywhere, and every flippin’ day
And yet really, to be honest, was I not as bad as he
All smug in my self-righteousness “I’m not a racist, me”
Sticking proudly to my principles in public mass debate
Whilst I broke bread with the shit and chose to zone out all his hate
In all that sick scenario ‘twas me that was the joke
I was the girl who sold her soul because she loved a racist bloke
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© Gail Foster 2016
gailfromdevizes 