Fred phoned.
He can't make tonight.
He said he'd call again, as soon as poss.
I said (on your behalf) OK, no sweat.
He said to tell you he was fine, Only the crap, he said, you know, it sticks, The crap you have to fight.
You're sometimes nothing but a walking shithouse.
I was well acquainted with the pong myself, I told him, and I counselled calm.
Don't let the fuckers get you down, Take the lid off the kettle a couple of minutes, Go on the town, burn someone to death, Find another tart, giver her some hammer, Live while you're young, until it palls, Kick the first blind man you meet in the balls.
Anyway he'll call again.
I'll be back in time for tea.
Your loving mother.

Poem by
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - MessageEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Poems are below...

Top Harold Pinter Poems

Analysis and Comments on Message

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Message here.