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Source: Adults

Author: carl smith

Title: Junk Mail

Yet another business opportunity, a half-price Feng Shui consultancy,
whoever they are sending this crap, must think I’m made of money.

Do I want a Stanna stairlift, what the Reader’s Digest prize draw?
then I might just my back in, humping this garbage off the floor.

I don’t need a Fisherman’s weekly, my coucil flat dont need a reclad,
don’t want a better home, or perfect pastry, or 50p off a lads mag.

I curse the day I sent away, for them bloody half-price CD’s,
now new offers every two days, they’ve almost buried me.

I send them back by the sack load, but still they keep on coming,
I probably wouldn’t mind, if this crap were somewhat interesting.

Who’s mailing list am I on? someone must have a vendetta,
it could be my ex-girlfriend, or a devious debt collector?

Greenpeace should know about these companies,
they’re so environmentally unfriendly,
but I’m not bloody telling them; CO’s I’d be mobbed by charities.

Can’t wait until November, I’ll have a huge junk-mail bonfire,
and anyone who wants theirs burnt; I’ll gladly be for hire.

They didn't do theyre research dam they dont no who I am,
I darent try the internet or theyd finish me with spam.

Published on writebuzz®: Adults > Poetry

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