by Roger McGough
This is, to my mind, Good Poetry. It's funny, but with a serious point too, and therefore very dark. I may set my sights on writing stuff like this, only I'm not sure I'd be good enough.
Humphrey Bogart died of it
People are terrified of itcancer
I hate that stuff
Peter Sellers was laid low with it
one in five of us will go with itheart attack
I hate that stuff
Monroe's life turned sour on it
Hancock spent his last half hour on itsleeping pills
I hate that stuff
Jimi Hendrix couldn't wait for it
Chemistshops stay open late for itheroin
I hate that stuff
Mama Cass choked on it
Blankets get soaked in itvomit
I hate that stuff
Women learn to live with it
No one can live without itblood
I hate that stuff
Hospitals are packed with it
Saw my mother racked with itpain
I hate that stuff
Few like to face the truth of it
We're all living proof of itdeath
I hate that stuff
Schoolkids are forcefed with it
Cattle are served dead with itcabbage
I hate that stuff
First published in 1979 in Holiday on Death Row, this was copied from his 2003 volume Collected Poems (in which some poems are revised, though there's nothing to indicate which). The latter volume contains 397 pages of work spanning almost 40 years of his career, including seven previously unpublished pieces.
1 comment:
I remember our teacher reading this to us. We were 8-9 years old and it was 1980-81. I only remembered it because Mama Cass was an answer to a music quiz question. I remembered the line about her choking and searched for the poem. It's pretty bleak.
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