The Next Generation (2008)
We create them in our own image.
That’s why most of them don’t work.
Some are ugly as the unplanned spawn
of Channel Four presenters
expire at times both
premature and inconvenient.
It’s no wonder God felt betrayed.
They don’t do as they’re instructed.
They just want to be new,
shiny, gazed at,
They’re not disposed to consider their
built in insolence
My stapler has turned up twice
on Michael’s desk now
with no explanation;
several staples unaccounted for,
and the George Forman grill
– this fat spoiled child of a thing –
won’t clean itself, sits in a squat sulk,
grease congealing in its grin
waiting for someone else to sort it out.