Suffer No More

 Still an old fashioned writer at heart, pencil and paper
Erasers for occasional errors, not that I make many
No modern word processors or computers to help me write
I need no help, no speak or spell and grammar checkers
I hand write with pencil then type on my trusty old typewriter
The Olympia SG1 super de luxe manual typewriter
Bought with childhood pocket money painstakingly saved
Heavy, sturdy and reliable a real writers friend
I smashed the typewriter down on her head
I lifted it up and brought it back down thunderously
I could feel the breakage of her face and the squelch
I lifted up above my head a third time, she was lifeless
As I hurled it back down again the last line of this haiku
I checked her pulse; nothing; my pulse softened immediately
Despite the fact I was still angry and woefully full of ire
How could she, who did she think she was, something special?
I’d read much of her so called poetry; it was shite, utter shite
And that’s me being kind to her, but I never told her that
I wrote critique of her work always concentrating on the positive
I was always economic with the truth and so diplomatic
After all I didn’t want to hurt her finer feelings or diminish
Her over inflated ego. She claimed to be a writer, a poet
Honestly I could find nothing in her work that would prove it
But I would never say so preferring politeness and tact
Lying there with her head smashed in is purely her fault
How dare she criticize my work, how dare she be nasty
Here was me writing from the heart whilst she was criticizing
From the colon. She poured scorn and bile on my Haikus
And she now has her prize – a critiquer of the month medal
And a pulverised skull.

I no longer have to suffer her words, her so called poetry
I no longer have to suffer from her shitty and nasty tirades
I no longer have to suffer feelings of insecurity and failure
She no longer has to suffer anything at all