I put a rosy mouth on
went out
and wondered what my style was

to the inventor of flatpacks

I curse you with broken threads,
                                             8 screws where there should be 9,
I curse you with broken fingernails,
                                             and burst tempers
I curse you with the frustration and outrage

                                             of a million customers forced to pay for the privilege of assembling their      purchases 

I curse you with an engulfing tidal wave of disappointment

                                             and dashed hopes of a beautiful table gone wrong

I curse you with an avalanche of plastic bags

                                             filled with ellen keys and useless bendy spanners

                                              

through the trees
a seagull coasting down
like a paper aeroplane

I look good in my lidls lined wellies