Stuff your overblown similes,
Your gargantuan fat bastard metaphors.
Take your waddling, flabby words, too stuffed to stand,
And stick them up that fabulous pretension you call a life.
Untouched by anything other than a failed exam,
You float in middle-class bubbles and Radio 4.
That sprawling ego thinking it can write,
Because your class has the right to designate merit.
Drive by like emperors in your 4 by 4s,
Those novels, those poems, those plays
That squeeze the small cars off the road
And chronicle your nonexistent suffering.
Oh dear, you missed your plane,
They raised the interest rate,
Susannah’s birthday cake was late.
You know fuck all.
We’re coming to the gated community of your art,
Us sharp and starving raggedies,
We’re on our way to sever your sentences, slash sloppy skins.
We’ll leap over barriers and skewer you lean.