Uncartoned

 

Uncartoned

 

They say unboxing, these days, don’t they?

Probably from the same tossers’ brains

who came up with shite names

for other things - like ramping up, doubling down,

crap that only the influencers and the lame

would bother themselves repeating,

like a foul unwanted belch, after eating

a plateful of rank kippers.

Fuck ‘em all, I say, I’ll coin the word uncarton.

It came to me, I’m certain,

inside this morning’s shower curtain, you see?

It doesn’t take much effort to slap a prefix

in front of a pack of three. Make myself sound clever

as I’m rub-a-dubbing up some soap into lather;

it’s tough going though, because I’d  only just

ripped the soap from its sleeve,

uncartoned it, see? And the pink surface’s hard,

no matter how vigorously I use it:

which made me think,

(like the way I uncartoned you, dear),

that tomorrow, after laying dormant in the wet sink;

it’ll be warmed over, soft, pliable, wet:

takes time but I’ll make a lover of it yet.