Rich is a regular at the bookies I work in. He is quite tall, very bald and has a terrifically dark sense of humour. I’ve mentioned to him a few times about my writing and last week I gave him the web address for my blog, without actually expecting him to take an interest. Today, he came in to the bookies and informed me that, not only had he read some of my pieces (he told me that I’m a “very deeply disturbed” young man, so I knew he wasn’t lying), he had actually “written” (plagiarised) two poems for me. I was quietly honoured that he’d bothered to read my blog and also very impressed with his choices, his second poem especially striking a chord with me, as I’m sure he intended it to. As such, I’ve decided to post them here.

P.S – Rich, when you read this, don’t let it go to your bald head.

The Simple Life

How happy is the moron

He could not give a damn

I wish I were a moron

My god! Perhaps I am

The grass wasn’t greener

I wish I were what I was

When I wished I were what I am