Poetry Hallway - Otter Responds To Hate Mail

Regular readers will be familiar with our regular poetry column, with contributions from the likes of far-left Drew Walton, far-in Limpit Smike, and far-gone Croyland Otter. Our most recent rhyme, a seminal smattering of verse about Brexit and kicking out Poles, rightly attracted angry criticism from just about everybody, including many Brexiteers who understandably failed to grasp the gist of Otter's bollocky poem.

Otter had paid for his naivety and is reportedly in self-imposed exile. (He's in his shed.) We received this confused nonsense this morning, thrust meaningfully, Smike-style, through the letterbox of Poetry Hallway HQ. Shut up, Croyland.





Why Do They Poke? - by Croyland Otter


Scare me, they do, with all spiteful hurtings,
Fear-fill me, they will, with sweary-mouthed dirtings.
Deny me, they shall, all future flirtings,
With the woman who works making nice floral curtings [sic].

Political critics, they think they all know best,
Wind me up with words and now my bed is messed,
With crudulent brownness and fly-blown squirmed infest,
How fri't' all those threats make me; tightness in my chest.

How I hate all those lefties who shout at me, then get,
All rage-filled and screechy with brutal red mindset;
Now I swim in my sleep 'cos I've make my own bed wet,
Caused by mean-minded emails and Facebook-sent death-threats.