Of Children On A Bench (also Edinburgh Fringe)

Hello there, dear friend, dear lovely friend. I, yes, have been away. Doing the whole Edinburgh Fringe (festival) thing! I'm still there actually. It's nice and good (two of the best things). But not all is well up here. Because there are some kids apparently intent on RUINING THE FESTIVAL. So I've written a poem about them. Here we go.

Of Kids On A Bench

Two kids sit on a bench.
Harmless?
No. No, certainly not.
Armed. To the teeth.
With straws from Starbuck’s frappucinos,
With paper from the ground.
They roll up and they wad up spitballs,
And fire them all around.
They target boys.
And not just boys.
Girls too.
The dicks.
They then target a lovely dog,
Which calmly ambles by.
That does it, the bloody effing rotters,
I’ll learn them good, Thinks I.
So I kicked them and kicked them
Til they could be kicked no more.
Then, laughing, fired a spitball at them,
As they wailed up from the floor.