Ant Smith
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Poetry

I Just Called

I just called to say

I hate you

I just called to say

Fuck you

There's renta-kill boxes in the bushes on the concourse

of the office block complex where I smoke another cigarette

before I while away another rainy day

I just called to say

I hate you

I just called to say

Fuck you

There's lipstick on the fag ends in the ashtrays on the bin stands

of the bus stop on the corner of the meeting of the dying

and the meeting of the living

I just called to say

I hate you

I just called to say

Fuck you

There's a crowd of creepy colleagues that shuffle on the street

in a muddle of a huddle of a shocking shabby shuckle

in a daze of misery and a broken set of dreams.

I just called to say

I won't be in today

I just called to say

Fuck you

Poetry