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Aug 2018
You fill the bowl
To wash the pots
You make sure the water
Is scorching hot

Plenty of fairy
To cut through the gunge
Then into the deep
Do your marigolds plunge

But in a split second
You cry out in pain
A blood curdling scream
Thereโ€™s a ******* hole in them again!

Your fingers are singed
You jump up and down
Wrestling with the rubber
Dragging it down

Over your arms
As fast as you can
Revealing the blisters
All over your hands

How on earth
Did these marigolds go
And foil me again
By acquiring a hole?

Theyโ€™re ****** brand new
Only worn them once!
Yet somehow theyโ€™re torn
And my digits are toast

Why does this happen?
Is there no God?
Invent some ******* rubber
Immune to the ****

Of a mystery hole punch
That wins every time
Incinerating my poor fingers
As I try to remove grime!

Surely thereโ€™s an answer
An invention for that -
If only rubber gloves
Were made of shellac.
The Poisonous Pixie
Written by
The Poisonous Pixie  43/F/London
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