Smashing.

The bottom of
my boots
sandwich pack,
decorated for Halloween
on the front with pumpkins,
when I picked up the last
piece revealed a word.
“Smashing!” it goofily
shouted up to me
rubbishly.
Now this is a reference, intended or not,
to the band The Smashing Pumpkins –
but what the fuck has nineties
indie-pop music to do with a sandwich?

Money-making companies
arrogantly take infinite license,
more so than any poet, and
for what?
The sandwich was
fairly bland and didn’t
feel that good for
me I thought as
the big black bin bag
swallowed up all this
bullshit, even he will
eventually rape our mother
though.

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