The Toddler and His Fart

The toddler and his orange followed-through
Fart, white trainers, on the green, the golden
Shower as a bonus to their predilections,
Admire their own beastly selves, and
Imagine the boos are cheers, and the hatred
Adoration. It is common, amongst self-made
Gods, to have delusions of grandeur, when
You’re nothing more than bribing children,
And easily bribed with falsity’s baubles.

The toddler holds his orange shit in his
Hand, doesn’t even notice the stench,
Doesn’t care about the game, doesn’t
Understand sporting spirit, ignores
Everything. His runny turd, with its
Eighty-year-old semblance of sentience,
Imagines that everything’s for buying;
Trophies, wars, people, sainthood,
Worship, mastery. Wait until they
Wake up in that shit-stained bed,
Alone, or in the hell of their self-inflicted
Apocalypse.

R 06/08/2026

Now seems the most appropriate time to put this out there, after the most discredited World Cup of all time (narrowly followed by the Qatar one four years ago), and after having been away for so long.