On April Fools
Every year on the first of April the editors of The Awl commission a poem by a respected scribe to best encapsulate our feelings about the day. This time around we went with an Englishman of the 20th century known for his bleak and unsparing view of modern life. Enjoy!
They Be The Worst
They fuck it up, the April fools.
They think they're funny, but they're not.
Not only are they stupid tools
They're each the saddest kind of twat.
But they were pranked by older clowns
Whose jokes were just as bad and lame:
Pathetic gags inspiring frowns,
Transparent hoaxes, all the same.
Fool hands on foolishness to fool.
Of lousy jokes we've got a glut.
Please listen to this simple rule,
And keep your fucking fool mouth shut.
Philip Larkin did not have any kids himself.
Next up: Mein Poem.
FAKE! Larkin would never rhyme "not" and "twat."
(Shhh. It was too good to pass up.)
I think he was secure enough in his talents to employ a slant rhyme now and again.
You need to make this guy a regular contributor.
Also, I might recommend Elizabeth Bishop for next year. She has a poem that starts with "The art of shutting the fuck up isn't hard to master."
I fooled two cities, lovely ones.
Happy National Poetry Month to you too.
Even better than Shakespeare.
This Is Just To Say
I am taking
the kids
and will go
to Cleveland
and that
I am probably
filing
for divorce
Oh my god
I am totally
kidding
April Fool's!
Obviously had to be a prank. I mean, Cleveland?
Obviously a case of the rhythm influencing the word choice. But c'mon, Cleveland's not *entirely* terrible — they've got the Plain Dealer, a huge Slovenian population, decent bagels…