There were only seven chicken meatballs in my pack of eight
So I opened up my Macbook to send an email of complaint.
She said
Look. You need to get a sense of perspective.
It’s petty, it’s sad, and you sound like a git.
Plus, it’s a romantic disincentive
So if you’re actively trying to repel me
Congratulations. You achieved your objective.
When you complain about living a consumerist life
Your parsimony is an oral contraceptive.
I can’t stand to live another minute of it
And if I’m losing the will to live, feck this.
She left.
She also left the outside light on as she slammed the garden gate
So I opened up my Macbook to send her an email of complaint.
The main part of the poem featuring her dialogue is a ‘magic 9’ poem. A magic nine poem has nine lines, any length and meter, as long as the rhyme scheme is ABACADABA – it took me a little while to realise because I’m slow on the uptake, but this is the word ABRACADABRA without the letter R.
This poem was inspired partly by true events (I really did have seven red pepper chicken meatballs in my packet of eight from M&S and I still feel sore about being robbed by them) but mostly by my realisation at the sheer number of words that rhyme with -ective. Yes, honestly.
