The bastards

They will play the best music on your funeral
the bastards, calling themselves your friends,
where were the songs when you were well alive,
and where were they, the bastards? Drunk and
out of tune and late for the ceremony
they will sing but only after you are gone.
The bastards. As if you would have minded
that they sang flat. That they smelled of
vomit, urine and days of mourning.

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Comments on: "The bastards" (19)

  1. Love it.

  2. Strong words, I like it.

  3. What especially charms me is that I can repeat the word “bastards” in varying tones of disgust throughout the poem, just what the bastards deserve!

  4. This one ‘packed a punch’, Ina – just what ‘they’ deserved! ๐Ÿ™‚ XO โ™ฅ

  5. Illegitimi non carborundum…

    • Don’t let the bastards grind you down ๐Ÿ™‚ ( I had to look it up)

      • Such a scholar you are ๐Ÿ˜‰

        • lol I love to learn ๐Ÿ™‚ but I know nothing.

          • You know so much more than you know you know. If you knew nothing how could you change our lives with your words, how could you reflect our feelings with such power, how could you open us to tears and laughter, how could you be poetry itself and share all that poetry is?

            • I don’t know ๐Ÿ™‚ Your words make me
              blush ๐Ÿ™‚
              Thank you so much for all your support!

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