Drop

 

Drop

 

Shrug to see you dropped in again,

you, or one of your half dozen clones,

ubiquitous as war zone drones

hang in unwelcome clouds of mosquito,

yellow fever, maybe malaria; careless.

Clickbait chicks late half undressed

you’re passing off as truth,

but there’s little in that face left of youth,

not much but chittering skeleton less tooth,

wound up, staking the place out,

all plastic dentures, disclosed pink plaque,

words that rhyme too well with crap.

Like, hey, good looking, your profile’s

somewhat cool; let's defecate and defile,

get cooking, put the chips in the pan,

come together, reply me when you can.

And it grinds you down into disused mills

this endless, hopeless, helpless land,

where no one thinks to pass exams,

a blooming world of full blossomed scams,

rip off this plaster, lend me your rash,

hold hapless hands out for dropped cash.