Poem: Why You Should Never Tell Your Mum To Get Fucked or Fuck Up or Fuck Off

I saw a guy eating an ice-cream. It was 9.40am. And he was an adult. He was stomping through Manners Mall, in army-kit and he looked like he was really enjoying it. His eyes were covered by dark sunglasses. But the rest of his face was wearing the bits of the ice-cream that wouldn’t drop down the central-hole quick enough.

A few years back my mum decided…