Monday 10 April 2023

Burdened by the Brass

by Nick Gisburne

It’s not the perfect body of my dreams,
But beggars can’t be choosers when they’re dead.
From artificial neck to toe, it seems
I’m burdened by the brass beneath my head.
With every move mechanical, the noise
Is punishingly painful to describe.
Imagine if a box of broken toys
Was furiously shaken. That’s the vibe.
They feed me from a tube, with toxic oil.
The orifice they shove it really hurts.
But worse than that, my reproductive coil
Is bent and inconveniently squirts.
    I’m glad to be alive, but how I hate
    The microwave at work. He wants a date.