by Philip Larkin
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.