Political discourse has been stagnating of late.
The rest of this poem has been censored by the state.
Being an ageing, overweight, unfit hipster requires some skill,
Especially while navigating a fixie bike up a steep hill.
As you stared angrily at me while you unbuttoned your blouse,
I wondered, who are you, and how did you get in to my house?
I told you I loved you, you didn’t say it back.
You floated away and said, “Quack quack”.
Look, I’m not going to be the person to tell you that you can’t
Give a Tombstone Piledriver to an irritating aunt.