170 - Foggies

There's pollution in the air

And random attacks at nights

Life isn't fair

So don't moan at me about my fog lights

There's war overseas

Our security has gone

Charities send out their pleas

It's foggy, that's why they are on

Corruption is rampant

Nothing is free

My friend needs a transplant

Funnily enough, I don't want anyone crashing into me

There's famine abroad

The world's turning to poo

Everyone's a fraud

And I get that it might be really annoying for you

Experts predict doom

The idiots will scoff

As distant bombs boom

But if it wasn't foggy they'd be turned off

There's bigger fish to fry

Worldly problems have grown

Stuff's in short supply

So fucking leave me and my perfectly legitimately turned on fog lights alone

Dickhead

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This poem appears in the book World’s Bestest Poetry Volume Two, available from the Shop!