Not a terribly good poem...it's really pretty crap actually, but I was giving that whole "form" thing a go again, and the result was this light-hearted tone, which I felt served the whole irony of the poem fairly well. Ah, well. Onwards and upwards. Tools
You say there’s crime there in Tibet?
‘Gainst monks on prayer mats?
Let me grab my army knife
I’ve got a tool for that.
It’s twelve steps to recovery
And he’s still full of pride?
I think I’ve got a tool for that
Yep, next year he’ll have a bride.
And what’s this about genocide?
The Congo’s filled with fear?
Well, good thing I’ve got a tool for that.
This will dry all of your tears.
Say, she keeps on calling him
Even after returning the ring?
The tool’s called “Don’t misinterpret this.”
That one carries a little sting.
And what about the ozone?
You say that layer’s fried?
Well, I’ve got my good army knife
Hey look, a brand new sky.
He’s got commitment issues?
I’ve heard that one before!
This tool’s been used quite often
But there, your love’s restored.
Come to me with problems
I’ve got a tool for each
It’s the greatest army knife
You wouldn’t believe it’s reach.
Yes any problem big or small
and I’ve got tools to spare.
But the damage done by my fixing lives
That I cannot repair.
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