My friend Clare composed a nice poem commemorating her wedding anniversary. It included the sentiments “And where are you today you bastard?” I suggested that the works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning would be improved by the inclusion of that line. Clare agreed, and suggested that “a lot of poems would be enhanced by a smattering (smiting?) of verbal abuse”.
I do not need to be asked twice. I have set about improving some of the more well-known works. If only these people had had my flair they could have made more of a success.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
And where are you today you bastard shite?
I’d like to stick a bottle in your face.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of poxy daffodils;
Beside the lake, beside the brook
My allergies are shot to fuck.
Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
It pisses down, and then the thunder roars
I wish that you would bloody go away
Your ma’s a tart, your sisters are all whores.
YE flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
Well, I don’t fucking care.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
It’s bleeding cold, and that’s no sodding fun.
In summertime on Bredon
The bells they sound so clear;
Round both the shires they ring them
In steeples far and near,