Bland On Bland – Letter
Photo By Jools Thatcher
The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Letter”
I can’t remember the last time I actually “wrote” a letter. Never really my forté, I tend to communicate in other ways.
Ed Bates returns to guitar duties this week (I don’t think he’s happy with his computer).
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Letter
Dear Sir or Madam – whoever you are
Your gender wasn’t stated
I suspect you’re not even human
But computer generated
Still, thanks for your letter, a source of amusement
As always, a joy to receive
It’s filed with the others – Straight in the bin
I’m not sure what you hoped to achieve
This brings up your hundred – not that I’m counting
No-one can say you aren’t trying
And just as I’ve done with the last ninety nine
I’m showing courtesy by replying
I realise your owed nearly Two Hundred Dollars
I can imagine it causes distress
But I’ve told you before my Uncle Bruce
No longer shares this address
You could ask him yourself – now there’s an idea
I’m certain Bruce would be flattered
You’ll find him at high tide on Mentone Beach
At least that’s where his ashes were scattered
He’s as dead, you morons, as Monty Python’s Parrot
Departed two years as of June
His name’s Bruce, you cretins, Bruce, not Lazarus
So no – I’m not expecting him soon
Still, I have to admire your persistence
An outstanding debt really galls
But you gormless primates have blown triple that bill
Just in postage and calls
That lovely young man you keep sending around
The one with the garlic breath
The black shirt with a personality bypass
Demanding some ‘Proof of death’
Debt Recovery, I think, was his title
‘Grunt’ I believe was his name
I cordially invited him to screw himself
I suggest you consider the same
Now you’re threatening legal action
Brilliant – try suing a ghost
You could serve the summons by ouija board
It will save you a fortune in post
I suggest your minnow brained lawyers
Should stick to ambulance chasin’
Pay a medium to contact the other side
Try channelling Perry Mason
He’s dead you cyborgs, like VHS
Deceased – not hibernating
Do you really think he gives two shits?
That he’s damaged his credit rating
Bruce donated his liver and kidneys
And the rest of his organs in turn
If I’d known I’d have saved you his arsehole
But all we’ve got left is the urn
His heart gave a woman a second chance
His corneas gave sight to two men
Why don’t your bloodhounds try sniffing them out?
Get your money, pro rata, from them
His only possession was a budgie named ‘Feathers’
Not sure of it’s sex or its age
Maybe you leeches could flog it on eBay
In the meantime, you clean out its cage
Yours Sincerely, Etcetera, Etcetera
Signed on behalf of the debtor
PS Take off your clothes and touch your toes
Cause that’s where I’m sending this letter
© Copyright 2010 Ian Bland
