Here's my poem, for all you poetry fans,
all you sugar plum fairies eyeing up my iced mocha cans,
my ray bans are clocking spock spotting kirk the jerk putting in the work,
they also notice the so called believer willingly committing shirk,
my shirt - coffee stained - as I splutter out the frothy remains
outraged beyond rage, i remain amazed at those lame brains,
so dose up on double shot espresso, get the head ready,
unplug from the mains, refrain from tom dick and freddy,
find Ahmed on speed dial and dial speedily,
arrange "let's meet up tonight before Magrib at the masjid bro" easily
yeah, keep it free, sow that seed and know that creed
silently pray Tarek Mehanna get freed, for wounds to heal and not bleed,
one two and three'd wars witness the core of mankinds fall
welcome to the evildoers delight, the midnight ball, that free for all,
you can even buy an evil deed for pittance at one of those stalls,
and drown out the muezzin who makes that 5 a day call,
hold up, the only five a day you got sold was vitamins and minerals,
pepped up on pills your toothless grill got gilded with bleached enamels,
nah I aint got this twisted, Oliver didn't eat olives either,
the story teller was actually a weaver, who painted a beaver
into a skunk, three white lines on its back and a witch hunt with a meat cleaver!
I sigh, coz its always the best of believers, vilified, tried and fried,
yet remaining dignified til their last,
coz I witness they breathing their last with an air of class, far surpassed,
unimagined as my eyes see what the will writ into what the well oiled quill spit,
trip horizontal dead tone bleep pit, stop and switch trip.
Now I pray so I lift up my hands, and find them stained with the remains of my mocha cans.